I saw I was going to have to be blunt. “It is much worse than that. Mr. Travers will not recover. He’s been killed.”
Mrs. Travers stilled, her gaze on me. Her body was so motionless that a wisp of her hair moving in a draft seemed a wild gesture. I read stunned disbelief in her eyes, astonishment so strong she did not know what to do.
Brewster had moved to the sideboard and the sherry, prepared to deal with a swooning lady. Mrs. Travers, however, exhibited no signs of falling to the floor. She remained rigid and upright, staring at me.
“How?” she asked, the word loud in the sudden hush. The only other sounds were the trickle of sherry into a glass as Brewster poured it and the pop of the fire. “You said Gareth has been killed. What do you mean? Run down in the street? Fallen from a horse?”
“Perhaps we should sit?” I gestured to an armless lady’s chair in muted green and gold that was only a few steps behind her.
Mrs. Travers conceded to lower herself into it. She kept her gaze firmly on me, as though conveying that she sat because I needed her to, not for any weakness on her part.
I pulled a straight-backed chair to face hers. The lady’s chair had been made to accommodate the wide panniers of forty years ago—Mrs. Travers looked lost in it with her very narrow skirt and prim, high waist.
“There is no gentle way to state this,” I began. “Mr. Travers was struck down—cudgeled—and died of his wounds.”
Mrs. Travers’s eyes widened slightly, but she again made very little movement. “Do you mean he was fighting?”
“At the moment, it is impossible to tell what happened,” I said. “I suspect they’d been set upon by thieves, or toughs who simply wanted violence. It was very dark, and I had difficulty viewing the scene of the crime.”
I heard my voice tremble with exhaustion. Perhaps Mrs. Travers was correct that I was the one who needed to sit.
“They?” Mrs. Travers pounced upon the word. “They who?” Her face tightened with rage.
“He was with his friend, Mr. Derwent. They were both hurt. Mr. Derwent—”
I got no further. Mrs. Travers sprang from her seat, fire in her eyes. “Derwent? I might have known that lot would be involved.” She clenched her hands, bending my card in two. “Tell me, Captain, what has become of Mr. Leland Derwent? Are you breaking the news to his father, that his son has been set upon and killed?”
I had come to my feet as soon as she had. A gentleman did not sit when a lady stood, no matter the lady’s manners. “Mr. Derwent was injured, but is alive. For now.” Leland’s wounds were severe—it was by no means clear whether he would survive. “Sir Gideon has taken him home, Mr. Travers’s body as well. Mr. Travers can remain there until you and your husband send instructions—”
“You gave him to the Derwents?” she nearly screeched, as though I’d announced I’d left Gareth to the murderers’ care. “The Derwents, who were the ruination of our boy? Why did you not bring him home at once?”
My temper stirred. “Madam,” I said in a hard voice. “First, I had no idea until an hour ago where Gareth’s home was. Second, I had no wish to trundle him across London and sling him to your doorstep without preparing you or his father. Third, Sir Gideon quite kindly offered to give Gareth a place to lie until you could collect him. I can think of no more respectable house for him to stay in, no more considerate family to tend him.”
Mrs. Travers’s cheeks burned red. “That is because you cannot possibly know the Derwents and what they are capable of. Thank you for informing me, Captain. Now, please leave my house.”
Neither I nor Brewster made any move to go. I found it interesting she named it her home, not that of her husband upstairs in his bed. Ladies invariably referred to property as my husband’s, often proudly—even if a lady came into property, unless complicated trusts surrounded it, it would go to her husband the day they married. And since this house was a vicarage, it was owned by the parish.
Mrs. Travers’s eyes widened while we stood in place. “Did you not hear me?” she demanded. “Take yourselves away at once.”
The door opened, as if in response to her anger. The maid stood on the threshold, ready to usher us out.
I nodded to Brewster, who clicked the untasted sherry to the sideboard and walked to the door. The maid ducked aside for his bulk, her look sour.
“Please convey my condolences to Reverend Travers,” I said, bowing to Mrs. Travers. “I believe you will send instructions about Gareth to Sir Gideon?”
“Of course I will,” she snapped. “I take care of everything, don’t I? Why should this be any different?”
“I am sorry to come here with such sad news,” I finished. I bowed to her again, and took myself out the door.
Mrs. Travers’s voice floated after me. “I am sorry too, Captain. You cannot understand how sorry I truly am.”
Brewster raised his brows at me, and we left the house. I saw a shadow in the window of the room we’d left, then we climbed back into the hackney we’d asked to wait.
Brewster let out a long breath as the carriage rattled forward. “What a termagant,” he said. “I’d take the back of me hand to her, was I her husband. S’pose a vicar wouldn’t, though. Mebbe that’s why she married him.”
I gave him a stern look. “I will not stand for disrespect for a lady, Brewster,” I said, though I privately agreed with his assessment. “Nor any thought of violence toward them, no matter how they behave. Ladies are weaker than we are, and deserve our protection.”
Brewster snorted a laugh, unabashed. “Only shows you’ve not known some of the ladies I have, Captain.”
Still chuckling he leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes, and we made our way to Blackfriar’s Bridge and over it in silence.
*
When I reached Mayfair again, the coach left me at the house in South Audley Street. Brewster did not descend, saying he was going on to Curzon Street and Denis’s home. I suspected Brewster would be back soon to watch over me, but I only bade him good night before I ducked into the house.
It was half past one. The hour surprised me—I had assumed it much later. Donata was still out, the butler, Barnstable, informed me. He looked me up and down, taking in my state, and suggested a hot bath.
I was more inclined to leave again. I wanted to rush to the Derwents’ great house and discover whether Leland had survived the journey home. But for some reason, my feet would not move me out the door.
My melancholia tapped at me, wanting me to indulge in it a while. It was insidious, that melancholia. Action was the best response to the tendrils of lowering thought, but my sudden fatigue wouldn’t leave me.
I gave in to Barnstable and his need to tend to my aches. Looking satisfied, he ordered hot water to be brought to my dressing room, and offered his hot-cloth remedy for my hurt leg.
I succumbed to his ministrations. At least, I thought as I lowered myself into the scalding water, the scent of mint and eucalyptus wafting through the room, I had made one person happy this night.
*
I fell asleep in my bed waiting for Donata to return. My dreams were sharp, images swooping upon me out of the darkness. Strangely, it wasn’t Travers’s body or Leland’s bloody face I saw, but Sir Gideon and his sorrow, Brewster hulking along to lift and carry, and Mrs. Travers with her strange anger.
The pictures dove at me, over and over, until I was the one in the passage with no light, a crushing blow falling on me in the darkness.
I cried out and grabbed the hand that came toward me. A startled gasp jerked me out of sleep, and I saw that I’d clamped my hand around Donata’s soft wrist. She watched me with wide, startled eyes, her loose dark hair hanging about her face.
Instantly I relaxed my hold, but instead of releasing her, I pulled my wife down into the bed with me.
The concern left Donata’s eyes, and she came to me, brushing back my sweat- and bath-dampened hair. She had changed into her nightrail, but that was soon gone.
Donata did
n’t speak, and for that I was grateful. Words could do nothing for me at the moment.
I’d left the house cheerfully this evening, and had been unexpectedly thrust into death and sorrow. Now I wanted life to fill my soul, and I found it in my wife. Her acerbic tongue was stilled as I kissed her, our bodies warming each other’s as the blankets fell away.
When I slept again, my dreams continued but were more distant, as though I watched them through thick panes of glass. I was surrounded by Donata’s warmth and scent, and I woke with my nose pressed into her bare back.
I touched her hip, and she murmured and shifted. I knew she’d never wake this early, so I kissed the curve of her waist and left the bed.
It was difficult to stand up in the cold after her warmth, but I reached for a dressing gown and went to find my clothes and something to eat. My stomach, always healthy, rumbled to be filled.
Bartholomew took care of me with regards to clothing, and I went down to the dining room to be served by Barnstable and a footman.
The newspapers Barnstable had stacked by my plate made no mention of the attack on Leland Derwent or Gareth Travers. Nothing at all, in fact, about anyone being hurt near Seven Dials. Strange indeed. The London press loved sensation, but though I scoured all three newspapers, I found nothing about the tragedy or even speculation on a disturbance in the area.
My melancholia had receded, thanks to sleep, my wife, and being surrounded by those determined to look after me, but this did not mean I intended to forget the entire affair. Someone had set upon my friends, with dire consequences, and I and Sir Gideon wanted to know who.
After breakfast, I walked north along South Audley Street to Grosvenor Square and the Derwents’ large house. I had hope that receiving no word from the Derwents meant Leland was well—surely Sir Gideon or Grenville would have sent me a message if Leland had not lasted the night.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the house and saw no closed shutters or blinds, only a residence that had been opened for the day as usual. A footman waited at the door, his purpose to assist visitors into and out of carriages.
When the footman saw me, he looked both eager and mournful at the same time. “They’ll be glad to see you, Captain,” he said when he opened the front door and followed me in to take my coat and hat. “Mr. Derwent, he woke this morning. He’s still sore hurt, but he’s asking for you.”
Chapter Ten
I’d never been upstairs in the Derwent’s large house. Theirs was enormous for a London townhouse, with substantial rooms on both sides of the central staircase, and more chambers behind the stairs, stretching well back into the garden. The house wound five stories above me, with plenty of space on each floor.
Halfway up to the first floor, I paused on a wide landing with a tall window as a lady came down to me—Mrs. Danbury, Sir Gideon’s niece.
While Catherine Danbury had the same light-colored hair and gray eyes as the rest of the family, she did not possess the air of unworldliness they did. Though not yet thirty, Mrs. Danbury had been married twice before. Apparently her last husband had been something of a scoundrel, dying in scandalous circumstances that the ton hadn’t quite forgiven. Mickey Danbury had run through his wife’s money, and Catherine had retreated here after he’d broken his neck.
She’d not become a recluse, however. Embraced by the Derwents, who treated her as lovingly as they did their own daughter, Mrs. Danbury enjoyed a vibrant social life. She was friends with everybody—her agreeable disposition and dimpled smile making her well-liked.
Her vibrancy was dimmed this morning, her smile absent. Her face was starkly pale, and she was almost to me before she realized I waited on the landing.
“Captain Lacey.” She halted and backed to the railing, her hand reaching out to steady herself. She did not look happy to see me. “Why are you here?”
“To inquire after Leland,” I answered. Her abruptness worried me. Surely she should be rejoicing that Leland was alive? “I heard he’d asked for me.”
“Oh, he did. He did.” She gave me an odd look. “I hardly know how to behave with you, Captain. He says you are the only one who will understand. He refuses to speak to the rest of us about what happened, and why he was in such a foul part of London. He asks for you, and only you.”
Mrs. Danbury’s anger was strange, but I thought I understood as she continued to glare at me. For whatever reason, she blamed me for Leland’s predicament.
“I assure you, I will do everything I can to find out who hurt him and Mr. Travers,” I said, trying to sound consoling. “Leland will have justice.”
Catherine took a step toward me, her breath coming fast. “Will he? You will see to it, will you?”
“Yes,” I said, puzzled. “I will do whatever I am able.”
“I think a magistrate will not do for this.” Her words were clipped. “You cannot possibly imagine how this will destroy a good man and a good lady. In fact, I will thank you not to interfere.”
I curbed my impatience. “It is a bit late for that, is it not? I found them.”
“Yes, you did. And how you happened to be convenient, I’m sure I do not know. Nor do I wish to. By all means, look in on Leland, and then leave and let them be.”
She started to pass me, but I stepped in front of her. “I have come here only to help. What have I done to earn your displeasure?”
Mrs. Danbury looked momentarily uncertain as she met my gaze, then her hesitation fled. “You have been no friend to Leland. This house cannot withstand a firestorm, Captain Lacey. They cannot withstand it. I beg you to leave them be.”
With this she swept past me, skimming down the steps and into one of the sitting rooms. The slam of the door echoed up the staircase.
Nonplussed, I continued my journey upward.
I found Leland’s bedchamber by following the flow of servants coming and going with towels, blankets, pillows, and trays of food and drink. Inside the grand room, Lady Derwent sat at her son’s bedside, his hand in hers. Leland’s sister, Melissa, reposed on a couch on the other side of the bed, but her look at her brother was fearful, and she picked at the sash of her gown.
Lady Derwent’s greeting was entirely contrary to Mrs. Danbury’s. She began to rise as I entered, her look one of relief and joy. “Captain, how wonderful to see you.”
I motioned her back to the chair, and kept my voice low. “Do not bestir yourself. How is he?”
Lady Derwent sank back down but reached for my hand. “I am so glad you’ve come. So glad.”
I covered her cold fingers with mine. “He is better?” I asked.
Lady Derwent’s clear gray eyes brimmed with tears. “He woke,” she said, glancing at Leland, who lay insensible, his breathing even. “He asked for you—no, begged to see you. We dreaded explaining that Gareth—Mr. Travers—had not survived, but he already knew, poor boy. He must have witnessed it. Horrifying. I cannot imagine …”
“Then do not,” I squeezed her hand again, wishing I could pass my strength to her. Though age and consumption had diminished her, Lady Derwent must have been a ravishing beauty in her youth. The bones of her face, the softness of her eyes, still carried the prettiness she’d had. Her daughter was lovely too, though Melissa’s timidity prevented her natural beauty from shining through.
I went on, “If Leland saw who did this, then we can seize the culprit and bring him to justice. The villain should be made to pay.”
Lady Derwent nodded. “Yes, we will prosecute. Gideon has already said so. But Leland, he said he will only speak to you of it.” She bit her lip. “And then he drifted off again, and has not wakened.”
My concern returned, but perhaps the best thing for him was sleep. “Shall I come back later?”
“Not at all.” Lady Derwent released me to lever herself to her feet. I was beside her again in an instant, my steadying hand under her elbow. She gave me a grateful look. “He asked me to beg you to stay when you arrived so he could speak to you the moment he woke. But I’m
afraid I must …” She put her fingers to her mouth as though she could press back the cough that began to lift her chest. “Gideon is finally in bed, and I—”
She broke off, her breath faltering. Melissa came to her other side without a word, but she would not look at me in her shyness.
“Have a rest,” I told Lady Derwent, and included Melissa in the admonition. “I will look after Leland.”
Lady Derwent’s voice was a whisper. “I know you will. Thank … I beg your … ” Another cough threatened.
“Save your breath for the steps to your chamber,” I said quickly. “Good morning, Lady Derwent. Miss Derwent.”
I made them a bow, and mother and daughter left the room, daughter supporting mother. One of the maids who’d come to assist Lady Derwent shut the door behind them.
As soon as the latch clicked, Leland’s eyes popped open. “Captain?” he whispered.
I went quickly to the bed. “Leland?”
He hadn’t been sleeping at all, I saw. His eyes didn’t have the vacant, bleary look of someone just roused, though they were moist and filled with pain.
“Gareth.” The word rasped from him, filled with grief.
“I know.”
Leland groped for my hand. I sank to the chair Lady Derwent had vacated and clasped Leland’s fingers as comfortingly as I had his mother’s.
“I am so sorry,” Leland said in a croak. “I was such a bloody fool. I—”
“Stop,” I said. “No recriminations.”
Leland’s head moved on the pillow, then he winced and stilled. “I feel as though the devil is dancing inside my skull. It bloody hurts.”
The fact that he used such strong words told me the depths of his anguish. “You were coshed, lad. Of course it hurts. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Would that I knew.” Leland’s voice was weak, but held conviction. “I did not see who did it, if that is what you mean. All of a sudden, I was on the ground. Gareth was beside me. He looked at me, gave me a little smile, and then … then …”
Murder in Grosvenor Square (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries Book 9) Page 8
