A Body in Berkeley Square

by Ashley Gardner

  "And why should she?"

  Grenville looked grim. "Unless she did the deed herself."

  "Then why scream and draw attention to herself and the blood on her glove? Why not quietly walk away and dispose of the glove somewhere?"

  "Perhaps she never meant to kill him. Perhaps there was a quarrel, she shoved the knife in, then realized what she'd done in her anger. Horrified, she began screaming."

  I wandered around the desk again. "He was sitting down when he was killed, or the killer took the time to arrange his body so. He was a healthy young man. Would he not be able to deflect a blow from a woman? Even one crazed with anger?"

  "Not if he were taken by surprise."

  "As you were," I finished for him. "This is different. It was pitch dark when you were stabbed. You did not have a chance to defend yourself."

  "No, I didn't."

  I remembered fighting to save Grenville's life, remembered him lying in the dark on cold stone cobbles, his breath so very shallow. I had watched him, fearing every breath he drew would be his last. But Grenville's constitution was strong, and he'd recovered.

  The incident had happened over a month ago, but the wound still pained him, I knew. It had made him a bit more nervous as well, though he strove to hide it.

  "The circumstances here are entirely different," I said. "A brightly lit room, a hundred guests outside, a strong man facing his attacker. In addition, if Imogene Harper indeed killed him, how did she obtain Brandon's knife? I refuse to believe Brandon handed it to her and told her to kill Turner with it."

  "She might have stolen it," Grenville suggested. "Or Brandon might have left it lying somewhere. Or it might be her knife, and Brandon lied to protect her."

  "No, I do believe the knife belonged to Colonel Brandon. Such knives were common in the army--they are utilitarian and handy to have."

  For a time we both looked at the desk and its herringbone inlay. I imagined Turner lying there, his curled brown hair, nearly the same color as the satinwood, splayed over the desk.

  "Lacey," Grenville said in a quiet voice, "we can speculate all night, but the fact is, it looks pretty damning for your colonel. Brandon tried to place himself next to Imogene Harper from the moment he arrived. He was seen speaking sharply with Turner by more than one person--myself included. He even followed Turner into this room, although, admittedly, they emerged together not a few minutes later. An overheard quarrel, the knife, and Brandon seen chasing Turner from Mrs. Harper earlier, all point to one conclusion."

  "I know that." I closed my fists. "And yet, it is the wrong conclusion. It feels wrong."

  "Your Sergeant Pomeroy does not much care about how a thing feels."

  "He is a practical man, is Pomeroy. It makes him a good sergeant, but not a good investigator."

  "No?" Pomeroy boomed behind me.

  He filled the doorway, the tall bulk of him crowned with pomaded yellow hair. His face was red, his right cheekbone creased by a scar from a cut he'd recently received from a thief reluctant to be caught. Pomeroy grinned at me, his stalwart good humor in place.

  "No," I said. "You see much and see nothing at the same time."

  "Now that, Captain, is why you are the captain and I am the sergeant. You do the plotting and the planning and the inspiring, and I do the drilling and the fighting. We get it done in the end. You should have seen him on the Peninsula, Mr. Grenville. His men would have followed him to the mouth of hell itself. A fine sight."

  "You flatter me," I said dryly.

  My men had followed me because they knew I'd make damn sure they'd come back. I'd seen no reason for us all to die in a heroic charge to satisfy a general's lust for glory. The generals had often disagreed with me, and I'd told them exactly what I'd thought. Shouting back at those above me, many of them aristocrats, had earned me the reputation as a hothead and made certain I never progressed to the rank of major. Colonel Brandon had, many times, had to intervene between myself and a superior I'd insulted, thus, if only temporarily, saving my future.

  "He did not do it, Sergeant," I said.

  Pomeroy shrugged. "That's as may be. But it's my duty to take in a man to face the magistrate. If you believe you can get him off, then I leave you to it. I won't hinder you."

  He would not. Pomeroy liked getting convictions, because he would receive the reward money, but if a man were proved innocent, well then, the gent had had a bit of luck, and who was Pomeroy to rob him of it?

  "I will certainly try," I said.

  "Best to you," Pomeroy said cheerfully. "I'll be off then. Done all I can do here."

  "What about Turner?" I asked. "If the coroner's been and gone, what is to become of his body? You cannot leave him in Lord Gillis's spare bedroom."

  "Already taken care of, sir. Lord Gillis sent for Turner's man, who will trundle it back to Turner's ma and pa." He tugged his forelock. "'Night, sir. Mr. Grenville."

  Grenville murmured his good-night, and Pomeroy trudged out, whistling a tune.

  "Who is Turner's father?" I asked Grenville.

  "Retired MP, lives in Epsom. Cousin to the Earl of Deptford."

  As always, Grenville had everyone's pedigree in his pocket. "I would like to speak to him."

  "I would, as well," Grenville said. "I will fix an appointment. But what about tonight? Will you speak to this Mrs. Harper?"

  "Not yet," I said. I did need to visit her--she was key to this matter, but I had an even greater need to see someone else. "I must go to Louisa."

  Grenville shot me a look. "She is with Lady Aline."

  "I know. But I want to reassure her."

  I broke off, uncertain of how I could reassure her. I wanted Louisa to know that I would pursue this inquiry and find out what had truly happened. Brandon might well be guilty, and, if so, I had to make that shock easier for her. If he were not guilty, I would work to get him free. I had to.

  "Do you want me along?" Grenville asked.

  I shook my head, and he cleared his throat. "Very well then, I'll leave you to it. I need to look in at Clarges Street."

  He meant that he would visit Marianne Simmons, an actress who had lived upstairs from me in Grimpen Lane until recently. Grenville, whether wisely or not, had taken her to live in luxury in a house he owned in Clarges Street. Their relationship thus far had been stormy, any progress made usually followed by a painful regression.

  "Greet Marianne for me," I said. "And send me word when you've obtained an appointment with Mr. Turner's father. It might be decent of us to attend the funeral."

  "I will," Grenville agreed, and we parted.

  Lord Gillis's quiet and efficient footmen let me out of the house. Berkeley Square was wet with rain, but the bitter chill of winter had gone, and my breath did not hang in the air.

  I had expected to have to hike a long way to find a hackney, but another carriage already waited at the door, and a footman I recognized as Brandon's hopped down and approached me.

  "Good evening, Captain," he said. "Mrs. Brandon said we was to have the town coach to fetch you to her. Will you get in, sir?"

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  The Brandon house in Brook Street was a pale brick edifice inside which I'd endured many an evening with the hostile Colonel Brandon. When we'd returned from the war, Louisa had seemed to think we could resume our easy companionship in suppers and chatter, but the days of laughing in the Brandon tent late into the night had gone.

  I missed that life. I missed it sharply. Even with the ever-present danger of battle and death lurking over us, my existence in the king's army had been good. I had been a whole man, fit and vigorous, enjoying my friends and comrades.

  The footman assisted me from the coach and opened the door to the house. He took my greatcoat and hat and gloves but left me my walking stick.

  "She's upstairs, sir," he told me.

  I knew the way. I climbed the stairs, noting that the house was dark, cold, and silent. If the servants were up and awake, they were staying out
of sight.

  I found two maids in the room with Louisa, both looking upset and alarmed. Lady Aline Carrington, a stout, white-haired woman with a booming voice, was seated on a divan with Louisa.

  Louisa reclined next to her, a blanket over her knees. Her maids had loosened her hair, and it hung down one shoulder in a golden swath. Despite that, she looked tired and old, well beyond her forty-three years.

  When she saw me, she exhaled in relief. "Gabriel."

  Lady Aline creaked to her feet. "Lacey, my boy. Dreadful business, this. You will find out what really happened, won't you?"

  "That is my intention," I said.

  "Louisa was a bit worried you wouldn't trouble yourself," Lady Aline said, always frank.

  Louisa flushed. "Aline, will you please allow me to speak to Gabriel alone?"

  "Of course. Come along," she told the maids. "Your mistress will not crumble to dust without you. At least not for ten minutes."

  The maids, who had been straightening Louisa's blanket and holding a cup of tea for her, made every show of reluctance as they left the room. Lady Aline drove them out before her, then she shut the door.

  "Louisa," I began, preparing to launch into my speech of comfort.

  Louisa pushed aside the blanket and left the divan to fling her arms around my neck.

  This was so unusual for Louisa, that I stood still, nonplussed, before I closed my arms around her and pulled her close.

  Once, three years ago, Louisa had come to me for comfort. On that rainy, hot night in Spain, her husband had told her of his plan to end their marriage. She'd come, weeping, to my tent in the middle of the night, and I'd held her as I held her now, stroking her golden hair and giving her words of comfort.

  "I will do everything I can, Louisa. I will help him. Never fear that."

  She laid her head on my shoulder. It was unlike her to crumble, but tonight she had endured much. I wondered whether she had known about Mrs. Harper before this, and I silently cursed Brandon for raining everything upon her at once.

  I held her for a time. The coal fire flickered quietly on the hearth, and rain pattered against the dark windows.

  At last, Louisa lifted her head and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "Forgive me, Gabriel. But I feel as if I cannot breathe."

  I smoothed her hair. "Louisa, I know magistrates; I even know a man whom magistrates fear. Your husband will be released and brought home to you. I swear this."

  Her gray eyes, luminous with tears, contained resignation and a strange finality. I realized with a jolt that she believed Brandon guilty.

  "Louisa," I began, and then I felt a draft on my cheek.

  The door had opened, and Lady Breckenridge stood on the threshold.

  The widowed Viscountess Breckenridge was thirty years old. She was slender but not overly thin and had thick black hair and dark blue eyes. She was quite attractive and knew it, and I had let that attraction entrance me quite often of late.

  Lady Breckenridge was outspoken and acerbic, but she could show touches of kindness, such as when she had purchased me a new walking stick when my old one had been ruined. She also enjoyed bringing up-and-coming artists and musicians to the attention of society, and she lived well in her status as widow of a wealthy and titled gentleman and only daughter of another wealthy and titled gentleman.

  She had claimed once that she wanted friendship from me, but I never quite knew how to take her overtures.

  Lady Breckenridge paused for one silent moment on the threshold, taking in Louisa in my arms without changing expression. Then she swept into the room, gesturing for the tray-bearing footman behind her to follow.

  "Lady Aline suggested drink stronger than tea, Mrs. Brandon," she said. "I sent your servant to find your husband's cache of brandy and whiskey."

  Louisa stepped away from me and moved back to the divan.

  Lady Breckenridge instructed the footman to leave the tray on the tea table. She was still in her ball gown, a creation of deep blue velvet. The hem was lined with a stiff gold lace that rose in an inverted V in the front to be topped with a bow somewhere near Lady Breckenridge's knees. Her sleeves were long, but the ensemble left her shoulders bare. She'd draped a silk shawl over her arms, but did not bother to pull it up to warm her skin.

  Lady Breckenridge gave me a sharp stare, as though daring me to ask what she was doing there. I was grateful to her for helping Louisa home, but I wondered at her motives.

  I was grateful also to Lady Aline for suggesting the brandy. I poured a dollop into Louisa's teacup and pressed it into her hands. "Drink this."

  Obediently, Louisa lifted the cup to her lips. I sloshed whiskey into one of Brandon's precious cut crystal glasses for myself, and sipped. The liquid burned a nice warmth through my body.

  "Brandy, nothing better," Lady Aline said, coming back into the room. "Lacey, pour me some of that whiskey, and do not look shocked, I beg you. I am much older than you and can drink what I like."

  I hid a smile as I obliged her and poured the whiskey. "May I give you tea, Donata?" I asked Lady Breckenridge. "Or will you be daring and drink whiskey as well?"

  Lady Breckenridge hesitated, then made the smallest negative gesture. "Nothing for me, thank you."

  Louisa gave me an odd look. Lady Aline raised her brows and drank her whiskey.

  I realized after a moment that I'd betrayed myself. I called very few women by their Christian names; to do so was to acknowledge an intimate friendship. I addressed Louisa by her Christian name, and Marianne Simmons, who'd filched my candles when she'd lived upstairs from me. I should properly address Lady Breckenridge as my lady.

  I decided that trying to correct myself would condemn me further, so I said nothing.

  Lady Aline tossed her whiskey back as well as any buck at White's and told Lady Breckenridge to go home.

  "I will stay with Louisa tonight, poor lamb," she said. "I will call on you tomorrow, Donata, dear."

  "Thank you, my lady," Louisa said to Lady Breckenridge from the divan. "It was kind of you."

  Lady Breckenridge raised her brows. "Not at all. Good night, Aline, Captain." She made a graceful exit from the room.

  I could not leave it at that. I excused myself from Louisa and Lady Aline and followed her out.

  When I caught up to Lady Breckenridge at the head of the stairs, she gave me a faint smile. "I am capable of finding the front door, Captain. Mrs. Brandon's servants are most obliging."

  She began to descend, not waiting for me. She'd dressed her hair tonight in tightly wound curls looped through a diamond headdress. The coiffure bared her long neck, which I studied as I followed her down the stairs.

  At the door, one of the maids helped her don a mantle, a heavy velvet cloak with a hood.

  "Thank you," I told Lady Breckenridge. "For helping Louisa. It was kind of you."

  "You are wondering why I did," she said as she settled the hood. "I am not known for my helpfulness."

  "I know that you can be kind, when you wish to be."

  A smile hovered about her mouth. "High praise, Captain. I helped her, because I knew she was your friend. And Lady Aline's." Her eyes were a mystery. "Good night."

  I touched her velvet-clad arm. "May I call on you tomorrow? I would like to hear your version of events, if you do not mind discussing them. You were there and likely much less agitated than Mrs. Brandon."

  "Of course." She inclined her head. "I will tell you all I can. Call at four o'clock. I intend to laze about tomorrow and be home to very few. Good night."

  I released her arm and bowed. Lady Breckenridge acknowledged the bow with a nod, then swept out into the strengthening rain under the canopy that the obliging footmen held over her.

  *** *** ***

  By the time I returned to the sitting room, Louisa had regained some color. The blanket was tucked around her again, and pillows cradled her back. Lady Aline sipped a full glass of whiskey, her rouged face now bright pink.

  "I should have been more gracious," Lou
isa was saying.

  "Nonsense," Lady Aline said. "Donata Breckenridge is a woman of sense, despite her ways. She enjoys playing the shrew, and who can blame her? Her husband was appalling to her from beginning to his very nasty end. She has a good heart, but she hides it well."

  "All the same," Louisa murmured. I realized that she was embarrassed. A viscountess, a member of the aristocracy, had witnessed her husband's humiliating arrest and confessions.

  "She will say nothing, Louisa," Lady Aline assured her.

  Louisa sank into silence.

  I pulled a chair close to the divan. "Louisa, I will have to ask you questions about tonight," I said. "Can you bear to answer now? Or would you rather wait?"

  "She needs her rest, Lacey," Aline said.

  I looked at Louisa's drawn face, and my heart bled. I'd spent most of my adult life wanting to make things better for her, and I never had been quite able to do so.

  "I would rather tell you at once," Louisa said. "I want to put it behind me."

  I glanced at Aline, who gave me an almost imperceptible nod.

  "Let us start from the very beginning, then. Why did you attend Lord Gillis's ball?"

  "We were invited. I received the invitation a week ago. I decided to accept because we could fit it into our night." Louisa paused. "No, that is not entirely true. I was flattered to be asked. Aloysius had met Lord Gillis during the war. I was pleased that Lord Gillis remembered us."

  "And he was willing to attend?" Colonel Brandon went to social occasions because of a sense of duty, not pleasure. When he reached the gatherings, he immediately sought the card room or his circle of friends and left Louisa to enjoy the event on her own.

  "As willing as he usually is," Louisa said with the ghost of a smile.

  "Tell me every detail you can remember," I urged. "Begin with leaving your house tonight. What was Brandon like? Did he behave in any way out of the ordinary?"

  "Much as usual, I think." Louisa sighed. "I admit that I was not paying attention. I was much more worried that my gown would be not quite right, and what would Lady Gillis think of me? It seems so silly now."