A Covent Garden Mystery clrm-6

by Ashley Gardner

  Several weeks later, as the Season wound to its conclusion and the ton began to drift to their country homes for summer, Lady Breckenridge hosted a private supper party for an exclusive slate of guests in her South Audley Street house. Present were Lucius Grenville; his friend Captain Gabriel Lacey; Colonel and Mrs. Aloysius Brandon; Sir Gideon Derwent, his wife and son Leland, and his son's faithful friend Gareth Travers; Lady Aline Carrington; and to everyone's surprise, Grenville's new paramour Marianne Simmons.

  "We are all old enough and wise enough to allow one of the demimonde in our midst without fussing," Lady Breckenridge told me when I'd discovered she'd invited Marianne. "We are widows and wives or world-wise spinsters and will not faint because a woman has been an actress."

  Marianne, at least, behaved herself. She was well turned out in a modestly cut frock that breathed the same elegance as the gowns Lady Breckenridge wore. Her only jewelry was a thin string of diamonds in her hair that winked and shone as she turned her head.

  Her manners were impeccable, and even Lady Derwent spoke to her without dismay. Occasionally Marianne flashed me a wry look, but I could see her trying hard not to embarrass Grenville.

  All her polish did not come entirely from Grenville, in my opinion. Marianne, I had suspected before, might have once belonged to the middle or even upper-middle class. What circumstances had led her to the stage at Drury Lane, and whether the birth of David had anything to do with it, I had not yet learned. Marianne, as both Grenville and I had come to know, kept her secrets well.

  After supper, we adjourned to the drawing room together, rather than having the gentlemen linger in the dining room over port. I preferred the company of the ladies, in any case, their softer voices and finer scents more appealing to me than loud-voiced gentlemen who smoked cheroots and became drunker by the hour.

  Lady Breckenridge raised her glass of wine. "To the safe return of Miss Gabriella Lacey."

  "An excellent toast," Grenville said, looking at me.

  Murmurs of "Hear, hear" filled the room as glasses flashed upward, raised in honor of Gabriella.

  Lady Breckenridge had invited Auberge and Carlotta with Gabriella, but Auberge had declined. Too soon, he said. Gabriella had agreed to give evidence at Payne's trial that afternoon, and she was recovering from the ordeal.

  I had explained to Gabriella that she did not have to appear as a witness if she did not want to. She could go back to France, with no one the wiser to her ruin. Payne had not raped her, she'd told us when she could speak of it, but I knew that the abduction would scar her heavily even so. Society being what it was, there would be people who would blame Gabriella for making herself available to be abducted at all.

  Gabriella, however, had resolutely decided to appear as a witness. Payne had frightened her very, very much, but he'd also made her deeply angry. She wanted justice and more than a little revenge. The stubborn outrage in her brown eyes I'd often seen in my own. She was her father's daughter.

  "The trial was splendid," Lady Aline said, beaming. "So satisfying to see a beast get his comeuppance."

  "Pomeroy got his conviction," I said. "And his reward. He is most satisfied."

  "But he lost his sweetheart," Grenville said.

  Black Bess had also agreed to be a witness in the trial for Mary Chester's murder, and had spoken in loud, clear tones about everything the monster Payne had done. Gabriella had not had to answer many questions after all, only to confirm Bess's story. Bottle Bill, sober and meek, had sung Payne's guilt with the fear of a man still believing he'd be blamed for everything.

  Sir Gideon Derwent and Sir Montague Harris had worked between themselves to fill the jury with gentlemen sympathetic to the plight of game girls, reformers who tended to blame men like Payne for the women's downfalls. Payne, standing fearfully in the dock with his face sporting half-healed bruises, was condemned to hang, and taken down.

  Black Bess and her laborer lover, Tom, had been tearfully reunited, and Bess had scarcely let go of him when they'd met up again after the trial.

  Pomeroy had been surprisingly cheerful even so. "Got my man," he said. "Congratulate me, Captain."

  "And Bess has hers," I remarked, shaking his hand.

  Pomeroy shrugged. "Aye, well, she's proved too fickle for me. Besides, I have me eye on another." With that he flashed a grin across the cobbles in front of the Old Bailey. I followed the grin to see it caught by Felicity, who returned it with a sultry smile.

  "Good Lord. I thought you did not trust her."

  "I don't," Pomeroy said. "But I know where I stand with Felicity, and just how far to take things. Besides, she's a beautiful lady, ain't she?"

  "You are a brave man, Sergeant."

  He laughed. "Right you are, Captain. I'm off then. Call on me when you find another dead body." He'd strolled away in Felicity's direction, whistling.

  Soon after, Black Nancy kissed me goodbye and departed for Islington and her hostler. "He's a good man," she said. "He does well by me, and he must be missing his Nance."

  "Thank you, Nancy," I said. "For all your help."

  She grinned and patted me on the shoulder. "Anytime for you, Captain. You know, I could take to this investigating business. Next time you hunt a kidnapper, or a murderer, you just sing out for me, and Nance will come a-running."

  I'd laughed and hugged her hard, to her delight. Giving me an impish wink and a pat on my backside, she'd gone away home.

  In Lady Breckenridge's drawing room, we turned the talk to the upcoming summer months. The Derwents were going on holiday to Italy, taking Leland and their daughter and Gareth Travers with them, to hopefully warm the treacherous cough from Lady Derwent's throat.

  Grenville spoke of his own estate and the hunts in which he'd partake. He had invited me to accompany him, and then, in an act of generosity that touched and humbled me, he told me that the stallion he'd purchased at Tatt's had been intended for me all along. The horse could stay in Grenville's mews, tended by Grenville's grooms, but he was mine.

  "This is a stunning gift," I told him. "Especially after I spit in the face of our friendship."

  Grenville waved that away. "I learned that you still loved to ride but lacked a horse. And so…" He shrugged, as though considering the matter unimportant. I remembered telling Lady Breckenridge that I'd missed riding in almost those words. The two of them had been embarrassingly kind.

  Grenville planned to take Marianne with him to his estate this summer and be damned to those who were shocked by it. He and Marianne had traveled together to Berkshire to visit David before the trial, and Grenville had returned home much subdued.

  "Dear God, Lacey, what she has borne," he'd said to me. "She can have everything I have. All of it."

  They had much to smooth out between them, but I suspected the process had begun. Marianne clung possessively to Grenville's arm tonight, and the looks he gave her were openly fond.

  My duel with McAdams over his comments at Tatts came to nothing. As Grenville had predicted, the man left England before Payne's trial. Just as well. Dueling was illegal, and I'd have gotten myself arrested, but I did regret that I couldn't at least put a bullet into the man's shoulder.

  Lady Aline said she would make a round of country houses before returning to her own in September, and she spontaneously invited all of us to spend time with her there. We accepted with pleasure.

  When our party began to break up and drift home, I found myself at one point alone with the Brandons. "Lacey," Brandon said. He shook my hand, then I gave Louisa a light embrace and a brief kiss.

  "We retire to Kent for the summer, as usual," Louisa said. "Please say you will join us for a time."

  I looked from Louisa to her husband. Louisa would not ask unless she meant it, but it all depended on whether my former mentor wanted me or not. To my surprise, he nodded. "Do, Lacey. Perhaps we do need to find out what happened between us."

  I saw the plea in Louisa's eyes. For her, I said, "Very well. Set aside a bed for me that is o
n the hard side. I am used to that."

  Louisa's smile flashed, relieved. She had been worried that I would blame her for Gabriella's disappearance, as she did herself, though I had tried to reassure her as much as I could. She would always regret it, but at least she had the knowledge that Gabriella was safe at home.

  As the Brandons departed, the last guests to do so, Lady Breckenridge slipped her hand through the crook of my arm and smiled warmly at me. She'd dressed her hair how I liked it, in long curls, with a few caught and held by a diamond pin.

  "So many country house visits for you," she said. "Lady Aline, Grenville, the Brandons." She squeezed my arm. "And I promised my mother I would bring you home to Oxfordshire with me at the end of June. Shall you come?"

  I touched her chin, bent, and kissed her. "I would be delighted."

  Before I ran off to enjoy my summer bliss, I had to settle the question of divorce from my wife and my guardianship of Gabriella.

  Carlotta and Auberge met with Denis and me in the parlor of their boardinghouse with some trepidation. Carlotta had said very little to me since Auberge and I had returned Gabriella, and she did not look at me as we waited for Denis to spread long pieces of parchment across a writing table.

  Gabriella reposed on a worn Sheraton chair, her hands held calmly on her lap. She insisted on being here with us, although Carlotta had tried to dissuade her. She was seventeen now, Gabriella had said, and this was her fate as well.

  Gabriella sent me a serene look. She had endured much, I could see in the shadows beneath her eyes, but she sat upright, determined not to be broken by it. My heart swelled with pride in her.

  Denis cleared his throat, as dry as any solicitor. "Captain Lacey has asked me if the process of freeing the both of you can be expedited. As I outlined previously, dissolving a marriage entirely is a long and expensive process, designed to discourage such a thing."

  Carlotta looked downcast, Auberge, stoic.

  "However," Denis continued without pause, "I am a man of means, and a man of special circumstance. I have… business acquaintances

  … in the Doctors Commons and in Parliament, many of whom owe me rather large favors."

  Since one of Denis's practices was to maneuver men into seats in the House of Commons and other high places by means of manipulation and outright purchasing, he was able to control the outcome of certain issues. A man owned by Denis did exactly what Denis wanted.

  "The official separation will be easily achieved," Denis went on. "In fact, I have a gentleman who should be signing the papers for that even as we speak. The conviction of criminal conversation will be handed down without a lengthy trial, and without you having to appear, Mrs. Lacey. The captain will have to make a brief testimony, and I have provided for that as well. The private Act of Parliament to dissolve the marriage entirely will take more time, but I believe it can be done by the autumn."

  I stared at him, and so did Auberge.

  "This must cost you much," Auberge said.

  "Quite." Denis's cold blue gaze flicked to me. "The captain will pay me back for the endeavor."

  "I will," I said. "Every ha'penny."

  Denis inclined his head, pretending to acknowledge my resolution. "I have a few papers for you to sign, Mrs. Lacey, and then you may go back to France and lose yourself as Colette Auberge. I will notify you when the divorce is final so that you and the major may return, sign the final papers, and begin your life of wedded bliss."

  "Thank you," Auberge said. He took Carlotta's hand in his and squeezed it hard. "We both thank you."

  Denis moved another paper, unconcerned by Auberge's sentimentality. "The next issue concerns Miss Lacey-Gabriella Auberge, as you call her. As you know, Captain Lacey is, by law, her guardian. It is his decision where she goes and with whom she lives until she comes of age or marries. And then it will be his decision whom to allow her to marry."

  Auberge and Carlotta flicked their gazes to me at the same time. Gabriella kept her eyes straight ahead, sitting as still as marble.

  I remembered her joyous cry of "Papa!" the night I'd rescued her, how she'd pushed away from me and flown into the arms of Auberge. I remembered the knifelike pain in my heart that had cut through the joy of finding her safe.

  Auberge had raised her, had watched her turn from child to youth to woman, had loved her. Gabriella loved him as much in return, trusting and admiring him as her father. I was a stranger from her past, one she did not know quite what to do with.

  I wet my lips, pulling the words from deep inside me. "Gabriella should return to France with her mother and stepfather. She belongs there."

  Carlotta raised her head. Gabriella's gaze met mine in stunned surprise.

  "Are you certain that is what you want?" Auberge asked, his tone pleading me to say yes.

  I studied Gabriella, her honey brown curls trickling from beneath her modest cap, her brown eyes so like my own. "I love you, Gabriella," I told her. "You are my daughter, and I will always love you. But I cannot rip you away from everything you have ever known."

  Gabriella hesitated, then she inclined her head. Her expression was neutral, as though I'd turned down an invitation for tea, but the ringlets about her face trembled. "Thank you, sir. Might I visit you, though? I would like to come to know you, and about your family… My family."

  My heart caught. "You are certain?"

  "My father told me what you did to find me. He said that if not for you, all would have been lost."

  That was true. Auberge could not have bullied Pomeroy, Denis, and Grenville to turn out half of London to search for Gabriella. A few patrollers might have looked, found nothing, and sent Auberge home.

  "I had resources," I said.

  "For which I am forever grateful," Gabriella answered, haughty as a duchess, I noted with amusement. "May I begin my visits soon?"

  "In September," I said. "I will take you to Lady Aline Carrington's in Hampshire. We will have a fine time."

  Gabriella relaxed her hauteur and gave me an impish grin as good as Black Nancy's. "Will there be games and country dances? I have read much in the newspapers about games and country dances at English house parties."

  "Lady Aline is at the forefront of society," I assured her. "I am certain she will provide exquisite entertainment."

  Gabriella clasped her hands. "I will be most happy to go, then."

  I felt a sudden stab of trepidation. I wanted to know and cherish my daughter again, but I realized that I had no idea how to be a father.

  Denis, who had watched the exchange with no flicker of warmth, gathered his papers. "I will leave documents for Mrs. Lacey to sign and dispatch to me." He rose, tucked the rest of the papers under his arm, took up his walking stick, and bowed coolly. "I bid you good day."

  I walked him to the door of the parlor, politely opening it for him. "I meant what I said. Every ha'penny. You will see it again."

  Denis gave me a wintry smile. "There are a few problems that have come to my attention about which I wish to consult with you. You will be just the man to find the answers."

  "I do not work for you," I reminded him.

  His look turned wise. "Wait and hear the problems first," he said. "And then decide. Good day, Captain."

  He was gone, settling his hat and climbing into the elegant carriage that waited for him in the summer mist.

  Auberge asked me to stay and speak with him, but Carlotta wanted to take Gabriella upstairs again, ready to hide her away once more.

  "Thank you, Gabriel," Carlotta said stiffly as we parted at the foot of the stairs.

  I lifted her hand, though she did not offer it, and pressed a brief kiss to it. She had been my first love; I had kissed the dainty fingers so long ago. "Be well, Carlotta."

  She looked startled, then swiftly inclined her head and started up the stairs. Gabriella allowed me to kiss her cheek, although she still behaved as though I were merely a kind stranger. Tears filled my eyes as she gracefully caught up to her mother and slipped her arm ab
out the older woman's waist.

  Auberge joined me in watching them. "I cannot repay you for what you have done," he said. "You have my deepest obligation."

  I remained gazing up the stairs after Carlotta and Gabriella had gone. "I don't know, Auberge. I cannot help feeling that Gabriella would not have been in danger at all if not for me."

  "No, Captain. I, too, feel great guilt, but the one who should bear it is Payne. Were he not such a beast, Gabriella would have gone without incident to your rooms and been comforted by you. We might have had a merry argument, but no more."

  "My reason tells me this," I said. "Still I go over it and over it, wondering what would have happened if I had said the right things or done things differently."

  "Whatever we feel, I am forever in your debt for restoring her to us." He paused. "And for not taking her away again."

  I met his gaze. "She loves you. You are her family."

  "You have the law," he said.

  "The law is not everything."

  Auberge pressed his lips together and nodded, as though afraid that if he went on in this vein, he'd lose what he'd gained. "You will take care of her when she is here?"

  "Oh, yes," I answered fervently. "You can be assured, I will watch her every move."

  We stood awkwardly a moment, two men who were, in truth, rivals, and whose bond over a common problem had come to an end.

  "Carlotta finally told me," he said after a time, "the reason she left you to stay with me in France. I asked her quite closely about it last night."

  I lifted a brow. "And what did she say?"

  Auberge slid into French, as though unable to keep up his halting English. "That when you were in France with her, she'd had a letter from her father. He wrote that he would dissolve her marriage to you and drag her home to marry the man to whom he'd tried to betroth her before. Her father was sore in need of money, as I said, and you had little. He convinced her, in her naivete, that he could do such a thing. Carlotta said that she had no idea until now that divorce and annulment were such difficult things to obtain. You were ready to return to England, and she feared that if she came back here, her father would force her into the marriage she'd run to India to escape."