Marianne had said much the same thing. The Rothschilds had copious amounts of money and power, but they would never be received in many houses of the ton. And yet, banker's clerks were beginning to rule the world.
"Me mam has the right of it," Bartholomew continued. "If you keep to your place and be your very best in it, you'll know happiness. You try to move outside, you'll never fit in, no matter how much money you have. You try, you'll just get misery."
The philosophy of a nineteen-year-old, I thought cynically. Bartholomew's place at present was footman to one of the wealthiest and most generous men in England. He might not be talking about keeping to one's place so complacently if he worked for a miserly gentleman who enjoyed beating his servants.
I understood Sutcliff's need to blackmail, however. I thought of his rather shabby suits and his willingness to take handouts. His father, as wealthy as he was, kept Sutcliff in straits, for whatever his reasons. Sutcliff, the scheming little devil, had to find some way to supply himself with the missed money.
Sutcliff had gone so far as to convince Ramsay that he would be accused of the murder and forced him to pay for silence. It was Sutcliff who needed the strapping.
We reached Grenville's chamber, and Matthias let us in, looking tense and drawn. Grenville was unchanged. Marianne sat by the bed, watching him.
I suggested both brothers take a nap, but they refused. "One of us stays," Bartholomew said. "In case they try again, like you said."
I could not argue. Having one of the footmen close by in a fight would be a good idea. Bartholomew suggested I be the one for the nap, but I could not bring myself to leave the chamber again. Bartholomew brought me soup and ale from the kitchen, and I settled myself in a wing chair with a blanket over my legs. I ate without much tasting the food, then made myself lie back and close my eyes.
Exhaustion coupled with overtiring my leg sent me to sleep. I barely heard Bartholomew take away the tray.
I slept hard, drifting in and out of dreams. I dreamed of Jonathan Lewis standing in Lady Breckenridge's parlor, drawling about his novels. I dreamed that Grenville stood by my side, his satirical smile on his face, listening to him. The dream changed, and I thought Louisa stroked my hair, her lemon perfume touching me as she soothed me in her sitting room.
I dreamed of Lady Breckenridge, wreathed in cigarillo smoke, as she said acidly, "Good God, Lacey, can you not stand on your own?"
I dreamed of my boyhood, and my father thrashing me so hard that I'd had to crawl away to my bed. Lady Breckenridge's voice sounded again. "He's dead and gone, Lacey. He cannot hurt you any longer."
But he could still hurt me. Things could crawl at you out of the dark and hurt you again and again. The past did not always stay dead.
I opened my eyes with a start. Darkness had fallen. Someone had lit candles on the mantel, and they flickered feebly in the greater light from the fire. Matthias slumped in a chair across the room, snoring loudly.
Marianne was holding Grenville's hand again. His eyes were open, and he looked calmly back at her.
* * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
I wanted to leap from my chair, but my aching limbs would not let me move.
Grenville's dark eyes were half-closed, his lashes black points against his white skin. He did not see that I was awake; he saw only Marianne. "Good Lord," he whispered to her. "It's you."
"So you are alive, then," she returned.
"I seem to be." His voice was too weak. He tried to turn his head, grunted with the effort. "Am I in London?"
"Berkshire," Marianne said.
"Why are you here?"
"Heard you'd gotten yourself stabbed," she answered lightly. "I came to make sure you'd live to give me more coins."
The corners of his mouth twitched. "I should have known." He faltered. "Is there any water?"
I shoved away the blanket and got to my feet. The other two did not seem to notice me. I poured water from a porcelain pitcher into a glass and brought it to the bed.
Marianne took it from me. "I'll do it."
As gently as I'd seen her handle her son, she slid her arm beneath Grenville's neck and lifted his head. She poured the water between his lips. The liquid dribbled from the side of his mouth, but he managed to swallow.
Marianne lowered him back to the pillow and dabbed his lips with her handkerchief.
Grenville looked up at me. "Hello, Lacey. You look terrible."
"You look worse," I said. "Lie as still as you can. The knife went deep."
He grimaced. "Do not remind me." He touched the bandage. "Hurts a bit."
"Do you want laudanum?"
"No," he said quickly. "No."
"You might do better to take it. You should not move too much, and it will help you sleep."
"I do not want it, Lacey," he said, his frown increasing. "I will not move."
I wondered at his aversion, but I did not pursue it. I had learned to appreciate the benefits of laudanum on the nights when my leg pained me so that I could not sleep. I knew people grew addicted to it, so I tried to resist as much as I could, but some nights, there was nothing for it.
Our conversation had awakened Matthias, who sat up and rubbed his eyes. Grenville seemed slightly amazed to find us all in the room with him.
"I do not wish to tire you," I said. "But will you please tell me what the devil happened?"
Grenville studied Matthias' watchful face, then moved his gaze back to Marianne. Their hands were still clasped.
"You must have guessed most of it," Grenville murmured. "I saw someone moving about the quad, or thought I did. So naturally, I tried to investigate." He paused, resting for a moment until he could speak again. "I am not certain what happened. Someone brushed past me, and I never felt the knife go in. But all the sudden it was there, and I was falling."
"A tall man?" I asked.
He nodded. "Tall. I thought it was you at first."
I leaned against his bedpost. "Tell me, Grenville, why were you dressed and wandering about the school in the middle of the night?"
"Yes," Marianne said, "that's a bit unusual, don't you think?"
He looked from me to Marianne, his look ironic. "When you are both finished scolding, I will tell you. I had been to Hungerford. I met Sutcliff's lady in the public house there."
"Met her?" I asked. "Why?"
"To question her, of course. I know you had spoken to her before you went to London, but you were a bit vague about the details."
He sounded put out. I had so enjoyed my visit with Jeanne Lanier and hadn't wanted to share our conversation with anyone, other than to reveal relevant information about Sutcliff.
"What did you discuss with her?" I asked him.
"Canals, of course. She is a very charming woman."
"Yes, I found her so," I agreed.
"Indeed," Marianne said scornfully, "she has measures of charm. She must, otherwise she could not earn a living."
"It is a studied charm, I do admit," Grenville said. "She wished me to invest a good fortune in a canal scheme proposed by one of her friends. Quite convincing, she was."
"I imagine so," I said. "Her friend was Fletcher, and he is now dead."
Grenville's eyes widened. "Good Lord."
"And the lady herself has vanished. Likely with all the money. Sir Montague Harris will put the hue and cry out for her."
"Is it over then?" Grenville asked. "The murders?"
"No. The culprit has not been arrested, but I have a few ideas about that. Marianne," I said abruptly. "I would like you to go to London."
Marianne gave me an astonished look. "What the devil for? I do not wish to, if it's all the same to you."
"I need you to," I countered. "You must deliver some messages for me. They are most important."
"Go yourself," she answered.
"I do not want to leave Grenville alone, but we need to put an end to this business."
Her expression turned belligerent. "Only this morning, you
told me it would be dangerous for me to leave."
"I will send Matthias with you, and you will ride in Grenville's carriage. You will be much safer in London, in any case."
Her mouth formed a bitter line. "Back to the cage."
"Marianne," I said warningly.
Grenville had listened to this exchange with a weary expression. He released Marianne's hand. "Stay there to be safe for now. When it is over, go where you want. I no longer care."
Marianne stilled. Grenville closed his eyes. Marianne stared at him, looking stricken.
I thought them fools, both of them.
*** *** ***
Marianne at last acquiesced to my request. I saw her and Matthias to the stables where Grenville’s coachman had bunked. I knew the coachman would let absolutely no one near Grenville's horses and coach, so I did not fear too much that the vehicle would have been sabotaged.
Indeed, the coachman checked the axles and braces and the harness carefully before he even let Marianne into the carriage. I handed her in and told Matthias to not let her out of his sight. The coach rolled away toward the Hungerford road and the highway to London, leaving Grenville and Bartholomew and I stranded at the Sudbury School.
I did little for the next two days. Marianne sent me a message that she had arrived in London and was carrying out my instructions. She also added, very like her, that she expected large compensation for approaching the people I'd asked her to contact. Matthias wrote also, asking to return to be near Grenville. I knew that Grenville's other servants would watch her well, and I consented. The lad was worried.
Well he should be. Grenville relapsed into a stupor, and then a fever took him. Bartholomew and I took turns bathing his face, changing his bandage, trying to force broth into his mouth. But he could not eat and could barely drink. Bartholomew and I watched him worriedly.
At last I put a few drops of laudanum in his water and made him drink it. When he tasted the bitter sweetness of laudanum, even in his languor, he tried to spit it out. I forced him to swallow. Let him curse me when he got better.
The school went on as usual but remained quiet. No more pranks or murders marred the routine. Ramsay, it seemed, had taken my words to heart, at least for now.
I knew Ramsay had not burned Fletcher's books, however. He denied that with the sincerity of a thief who is certain of the one thing he has not stolen. I suspected the murderer had done it, trying to destroy the evidence of the fraud. But Fletcher, even in death, had thwarted him.
Bartholomew had at last discovered who'd owned the knife that had stabbed Grenville. The maid who cleaned the tutor's rooms said that Simon Fletcher had complained of missing his knife a day or so before he died. Most helpful, I thought. The knife that I had found in Fletcher’s room had no doubt been used by the murderer to cut the twine that strangled Fletcher.
Sir Montague Harris at last succeeded in getting Sebastian released. He sent a message to me, and I left Grenville in Bartholomew's care and traveled to the village.
Sebastian was much subdued. When the constable let him out of his cell, his bravado had left him, and his eyes were haunted.
"Thank you, Captain," he said as we walked toward the school together. "I was afraid I would die inside that place."
"Thank Sir Montague," I said. "His persuasion far outweighed mine."
I rather believed that Sir Montague's knowledge of the magistrate's guilty secret had much to do with Sebastian's release, but I kept such thoughts to myself.
Sebastian shook his head. "You did this for me." He looked about again at the rolling land and the common where sheep wandered freely. "I never want to be inside again, I think."
"A visit to your family might be in order."
He stopped. We had reached the canal bridge. Below it, the water rippled serenely, stretching to the horizon in either direction. Beyond the canal, the peaked roofs of the Sudbury School showed through the trees.
"I want to see Miss Rutledge," he said.
I gave him a severe look. "It might be better, might it not, to simply go?"
"I want to speak with her. I want to tell her good-bye."
"Then you are returning to your family?"
His dark eyes showed resignation. "Yes. My uncle is right. I do not belong among your people. I will never be one of you. When things go wrong, their eyes turn first to me, the Romany." He paused and let his gaze rise to the horizon. "Megan . . . she is a good wife."
He pronounced it like a sentence of doom.
"A wife who can share your heart," I suggested.
He did not believe me. He had decided he must do his duty, nothing more. I hoped that Megan would make him realize that his duty could also be his greatest pleasure.
"I will see what I can arrange," I promised.
*** *** ***
In the end I had to recruit Bartholomew's help. He met clandestinely with the maid, Bridgett, who communicated with her mistress. I felt vaguely like a character in a Sheridan farce, in which servants handed round love notes and lovers hid behind screens.
I planned to accompany Belinda Rutledge to her meeting with Sebastian. Sebastian had grown much subdued during his imprisonment, but I did not trust him to not turn around and make a dramatic gesture, such as running off with her.
In the meantime, Grenville grew no better. He sweated and threw off his covers, and not even the laudanum could keep him quiet. I feared him tearing the wound further and bleeding inside. I also feared that he'd die of the fever, which increased. The wound, when we took off the bandage, was yellow and oozed pus and blood. I kept washing it, not knowing if it did any good, but wanting to see it clean.
Sir Montague Harris returned to London. He had business there, he told me. I explained to him what I meant to do. He did not like it, but he agreed that the killer might get away with his crimes otherwise.
When I met with Belinda a day later to arrange her meeting with Sebastian, Rutledge caught me talking to her in his study.
Rutledge was supposed to have been visiting with Timson's father all afternoon. Timson's cache of cheroots and business selling them to his fellow students had been found out, and Timson's father sent for. I wondered if Sutcliff's blackmail network had begun to break down or whether it had simply been bad luck on Timson's part.
Rutledge was not in the best of moods when he stormed in and encountered us. He stared, mouth open, for a full minute, then the shouting commenced.
"Lacey, good God! What do you mean by this?"
He halted under the portrait of his handsome, smiling wife. Before I could answer, he plowed on, "The only reason I have not packed you off is because of Grenville. That does not give you leave to wander about as you will and have private conversations with my daughter."
I planned to extemporize that Belinda had been asking me about Grenville, but I did not get the chance. Belinda, who was already distraught about the meeting with Sebastian, burst into tears and fled the room.
I faced Rutledge, deciding not to explain. A simple silent stare was more effective with him than explanations, in any case.
"I never wanted you here," Rutledge said. "I took you on Grenville's recommendation, but I regretted it from the first. You are rude, arrogant, and insufferable. I am surprised you had a career in the army at all."
I was too tired of Rutledge to be stung by his remarks. "As I said, my commander agrees with you. But I managed to lead men for nearly twenty years and lose very few of them. A man does that by being arrogant and insufferable and rude enough to tell a general that his plan is stupid and deadly."
Rutledge did not care. "Be that as it may, you do not know your place, sir."
"On the contrary. My place is by the side of my friend, who lies hurt because of my own stupidity. You, sir, allowed two men to die, because you could not see what was happening under your very nose."
I had said too much, as usual. Rutledge, though he annoyed me in every way possible, was not wrong about me.
"Perhaps you, Lacey, simply
do not understand the reality of being headmaster of a school. To keep fifty boys disciplined, to make them actually learn something, for God's sake, to placate their boorish fathers so that they will continue to send their money, is a continuous and mountainous struggle. Forgive me for not foreseeing the death of a criminally minded groom and a Latin tutor equally as criminally minded. Their greed brought about their own ends."
"That is essentially true. But there is unhappiness here, and fear, and you have chosen to bluster your way over it. Your prefect, Frederick Sutcliff, is an exploitative little monster, but of course, his father provides much money."
"What I decide about Sutcliff is my business," he growled, "and the school's. Other boys fall into his power only because they have something of which to be ashamed."
I stared at him, amazed. "So you let him be your substitute bully to keep order?"
"His methods work."
"You're a bloody tyrant, Rutledge."
"It no longer matters. Fletcher was a weak fool, and Middleton was tied to unsavory characters. I will simply find a better Classics tutor and a groom. I am amazed at you for letting the Romany go. I still believe he killed Middleton, and the woman must have killed Fletcher."
I smiled an angry, almost feral smile. "No, it was not that easy. If I tell you who I suspect, you will stop me, and I will not allow that. But I warn you to lock your door at night."
He glared. "I do not believe you. You can have no evidence, or the magistrate would have arrested him already."
"The magistrate is no more intelligent than you are, nor any safer." I made a bow. "Good day to you."
"Where are you going?"
"Back to my place," I said coldly, and left him.
*** *** ***
Rutledge, after that, left me to my own devices. He said not one word about finding me with Belinda. In the polite world, a man found alone with an unmarried young woman could unleash great scandal, often hushed up by a hasty marriage. Rutledge, on the other hand, decided to pretend it never happened, much to my relief.
Rutledge would have been apoplectic with fury if he'd seen me meet Belinda the next afternoon on the path to the stables and lead her to the canal and Sebastian.
The Sudbury School Murders Page 19
