Murder in Grosvenor Square (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries Book 9)

by Ashley Gardner

I smiled at Donata’s sudden, pleased look and left her to garb myself in suitable attire.

  *

  “You are cruel,” Donata said as we descended in an hour’s time before a townhouse, this one in Upper Brook Street. We hadn’t spoken much during the short, rainy journey, except for Donata explaining who would be at the gathering and whom I should ignore.

  I stood in the wet while I helped her from the carriage and to the door. “Cruel?” I asked. “I thought I was a gentleman of honor.”

  “You respond to my anger and jealousy by flattering me shamelessly and melting my heart. Quite ruthless of you.”

  Before I could answer, we were surrounded by the other guests. Donata became the lady she was born to be—witty, popular, and in turns charming or biting, depending on her audience or the subject.

  Chairs had been set in the ballroom for us to sit in comfort while we listened to the soprano. A pianoforte waited, with a male pianist running through scales to loosen his fingers.

  Donata brushed past me as guests began to fill up the room, the feathers of her headdress tickling my nose. “Notice who is not here,” she said in a low voice. “And if you stare at me and ask who? I shall snub you.”

  I glanced over the entering guests in what I thought was a nonchalant way, and saw what she meant. Signora Carlotti sang tonight, and the one guest who ought to have been there—her lover, Lucius Grenville—was strikingly absent.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I settled in with the rest of Mayfair to enjoy the soprano, wondering as much as any of them why Grenville had not come. He’d confided in me no reason for staying away, but I’d learned long ago that Grenville was his own man. Though I might be curious, he’d tell me when he wished and not sooner.

  Signora Carlotti, a woman with a lush bosom and a quantity of silky curls, stood gracefully, one hand on the pianoforte. She looked in no way distressed about Grenville’s absence and smiled warmly as we applauded her entrance, taking her due.

  When she sang, she filled the room with joy. Those are the only words I have with which to describe the sensation. Her voice erased every emptiness, every angry and troubled thought, and replaced it with beauty. I sat, entranced, feeling myself be cleansed.

  She finished the first piece with her voice almost a whisper, but a whisper of such strength it was palpable. As she at last dropped her head and closed her mouth, the audience went wild with applause. I clapped until my hands stung through my gloves. Donata, sitting a row ahead of me with friends, wiped tears from her eyes.

  Signora Carlotti sang three more pieces, and then a fourth when the room begged her for more. At last, Lady Darymple, a sallow and small woman who looked vastly pleased with herself, told us we must spare Signora Carlotti’s voice.

  Signora Carlotti bowed humbly as we praised her, then straightened to greet her admirers.

  I had met the soprano once before, very briefly, with Grenville, who remained blatantly absent. When Donata managed to push us through the crush to Signora Carlotti’s side, I saw no anxiousness in her eyes. If she noted that Grenville had not come, it did not worry her.

  Signora Carlotti greeted me smoothly when Donata and I reached her, graciously acknowledging our previous introduction. She’d met Donata more than once, and the two began to speak in the rapid, flowing way of women who loved to talk.

  I turned to leave them to it, and had my arm caught by a woman I had not seen much of this spring—Louisa Brandon.

  “Gabriel, how wonderful to find you here.” Louisa gave me a kiss on the cheek then stepped back, holding my hands as she liked to, to study me. “You look well,” she said, pleased. “Happy.”

  We stood in a relative bubble of privacy, the other guests either departing for the next entertainment or waiting to speak to Signora Carlotti. I did not see my former commander, Colonel Brandon, in the crowd, and concluded that Louisa must be here with friends. Brandon did not have much patience with musicales.

  “Married life agrees with me,” I told Louisa. “And Gabriella returns at the end of the week.” That thought always lightened my heart.

  “We look forward to her come-out. I would not miss it for the world.” Louisa’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “I believe Aloysius will pry himself from the house and attend as well. He was on hand when Gabriella was born, remember?”

  So long ago. And yet, the time had passed with disheartening rapidity.

  “Gabriella is quite excited about the ball,” I said. “I have … trepidation.”

  Louisa’s smile deepened. “Of course you do. You are her father. I remember my father’s apprehension at my come-out. I was so innocent, and surrounded by young men, many of them soldiers. He nearly fainted when I said I wished to marry Aloysius, a dashing cavalry captain.”

  I sympathized with her father. “I will no doubt be swooning all night,” I said.

  Louisa gave me another warm look, appreciating my humor, then her amusement faded. “I heard about the Derwents, Gabriel, and the death of young Mr. Travers. How awful. I went to Grosvenor Square earlier today, and I’m off to see them again. Mrs. Danbury does her best, but even she is not free of the Derwent delicacy of mind. I will relieve her and look after Lady Derwent and Leland as I can.”

  “It is good of you,” I said. “They need true friends at the moment.”

  I half-expected Louisa to ask me to accompany her, but she touched my cheek. “I will give them your best wishes.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Tell them I will call tomorrow to pay my respects.”

  We said our good-nights. I pressed Louisa’s hand, and she went off, signaling to a footman to run for her carriage.

  I turned to find Donata near the open double doors of the ballroom. I knew she’d seen my tête-à-tête with Louisa, but as I moved to my wife, she walked away as though ignoring me.

  She was not alone. It was a fashion of the time, one I loathed, for gentlemen to devote themselves to a married woman. Ladies and gentlemen who were married to each other did not sit next to each other at suppers, or dance together at balls, or circulate anywhere near each other at events such as this one. To do so would make them laughingstocks, so I had been informed. We would be accused of being tiresome lovebirds and living in each other’s pockets. A husband did not dance attendance on his wife without being mocked.

  Bloody nonsense to me. Why the devil should I marry a woman if I never wished to be in the same room with her?

  Donata’s two swains were Terrence Berwick, an untitled, but well-connected gentleman, and, to my surprise, Henry Lawrence, the gentleman Grenville and I had questioned at Brooks’s.

  Lawrence saw me, but appeared unabashed. I might know where his proclivities lay, but he was enjoying himself playing at being besotted with my wife. He knew the rules, his amusement told me, and no matter what sort of liaisons he enjoyed in secret, here I was the one out of place.

  Mr. Berwick stuck fast to Donata’s other side, tucking her hand firmly under his arm. The two men were languidly arguing about who would get Donata an ice and in whose carriage she would travel to a supper ball in Berkeley Square.

  I was not to notice, to bury myself with my cronies in conversation or in the card room. If I wanted to go home, I should send Donata a message by one of the footmen, or simply leave. When next I saw her, perhaps a few days hence, I might ask her how she enjoyed the musicale—to make conversation. I should not care what amusements ladies got up to, and instead find a mistress to devote myself to.

  I would never be a fashionable gentleman. I intercepted Donata when the two men turned to both procure her an ice, and cut them out.

  “Gabriel,” Donata said, smiling. “Did you enjoy the performance?” The arch of her brows told me she spoke of more than Signora Carlotti’s singing.

  “I did,” I said, “but I grow weary. Time for me to retire. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I leaned down, and in full view of the gathering, deigned to kiss my wife on the cheek.

  “You will not accompany Mrs.
Brandon to the Derwents’?” Donata asked in surprise. “I assume that was what you and she so fervently spoke of.”

  “No.” I hesitated. “I mean, yes, that is where she has gone, but …” I knew I ought to go as well, to continue to lend the Derwents my strength. I should say my good-nights and look in on them, helping as much as I could. They needed friends, as I’d told Louisa.

  But I thought of the hushed and changed atmosphere of the Grosvenor Square mansion, Sir Gideon weeping in his study, the brittle smile of Mrs. Danbury, the wisp that was Melissa silently moving from her mother’s bedroom to her brother’s. I could not go back there. Not yet.

  “They are friends who have been kind to me,” I said, trying to understand myself. “Why do I not wish to rush to their side?”

  “Because it is unnerving to watch those you care for suffer,” Donata said, her frankness cutting through the fog of my thoughts. “And the Derwents, unfortunately, are very good at suffering. Go home, Gabriel. Mrs. Brandon knows how to take care of them. She will send word if anything happens.”

  “You are saying guilt is a bad master.” I had her hand between mine, holding on, finding a lifeline in her.

  “Indeed it is,” she said. “I know you regret that you were not on hand to keep Leland and Gareth from being hurt, but the hard truth is, it is likely you could have done nothing to prevent it. Hovering over Leland’s bedside while you beat your breast will do you no good, nor Leland either. You know Mrs. Brandon well, and you trust her, do you not?”

  Donata knew quite well my connection to Louisa and our long history. “Yes,” I replied.

  “Then I will say good night.” Donata rose on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek in return. “There, now we have shocked the entire ton by demonstrating affection. I must put in an appearance at Mrs. Gardiner’s supper ball, or all will say I cannot tear myself away from you, but I will return after that. At Mrs. Gardiner’s we will chatter about Lady Darymple’s coup at persuading Signora Carlotti here, and Grenville’s notable absence.”

  She smiled, and I knew I had married the woman best for me. Whenever I fell into the haze of self-pity and doubt, her brutal clarity would pull me back, like a rope stopping a fall from a cliff.

  “Thank you,” I said, pressing down on her hands.

  The look in her eyes warmed me to the bone. She at last extricated herself from me and moved off to wave dismissively at the ice Mr. Berwick presented to her, and I went home.

  There I let Barnstable put me to bed. Bartholomew was not there, and I knew I should wonder about his absence, but I was too tired. He might be with Grenville and his brother, and would come bounding in and proudly present some new snippet of information for me, which I would deal with in the morning.

  I was still awake a few hours later when Donata returned, the scent of perfume, smoke, and the night following her. The hour was early for her, but I did not question as she entered my room alone, let her dressing gown fall, and slid into bed next to me.

  I became thoroughly unfashionable with my wife then, because I was of course not to take delight in her. She took equal delight in me, and then we drowsed together under the blankets on this chilly spring night.

  *

  I was still half asleep and quite comfortable when Bartholomew did come home, right into the bedroom, bringing a draft of cold air with him.

  Bartholomew and Donata’s abigail were the only ones allowed past our doors after we retired, and they never entered without good reason. Now Bartholomew halted just outside the curtains of my heavy tester bed and said, “Sir,” in agitation.

  I reached for a dressing gown and got out of bed, not liking the note in his voice. I twisted my bad leg in the process of standing up, and Bartholomew ended up having to help me.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “Mrs. Brandon. She says for you to come at once.”

  My heart squeezed with dread. “Leland?”

  Bartholomew shook his head. “Mrs. Brandon said nothing about Mr. Derwent. She said to tell you that Bow Street is there. Someone got into Sir Gideon’s house, and now he’s dead.”

  “Who is dead?” I asked in alarm. “Sir Gideon?”

  “No, sir. I’m telling this all wrong. The man who came into the house is dead. Mrs. Brandon sent the message, but she didn’t write nothing down, and their footman was blithering like a fool. But Mrs. Brandon says can you come?”

  “Yes, yes. Help me find some clothes.”

  Bartholomew got me to my dressing room, and I sat down to put on my trousers while he bustled around shaking out a shirt and waistcoat. “Were you at the Derwents?” I asked as he snatched a frock coat from the wardrobe, his movements shaky.

  “No, indeed, with Mr. Grenville,” Bartholomew answered. “When the Derwents’ footman ran to his house. Sorry, sir.”

  “I am not unhappy, Bartholomew, just worried. We left you in Seven Dials.”

  “You did, sir, but Matthias and me returned to Mr. Grenville’s as ordered. We had to wait for him there a long time.”

  “He’s there now?”

  “No, sir. He went out again, a bit ago. It was so late, I thought to sleep there and return this morning, knowing this house would already be shut. But then the Derwents’ footman came, and I hurried here and banged on the door until they let me in.”

  “I am glad you did.” I pulled on my boots and opened the dressing room door to see Donata climbing out of the bed, her abigail at her side.

  “Stay there,” I told Donata sternly.

  “No, indeed.” Donata’s lithe body flashed as she took her dressing gown the abigail had retrieved and competently closed herself into it. “If you are rushing into the arms of Bow Street, I am coming with you. Someone must keep you from being arrested again.”

  *

  We were admitted to the Grosvenor Square house by the Derwents’ very agitated footman. The entire ground floor was alight, servants swarmed up and down the stairs, and foot patrollers from Bow Street walked into and out of the rooms as though they had a right to.

  I caught sight of Mrs. Danbury, fully dressed, looking over the railing from a landing near the top of the house. She watched me and Donata come in, but she remained where she was and did not call out. I saw nothing of Lady Derwent and her daughter—I also did not see Louisa, and assumed her with the Derwent ladies.

  Bow Street Runners had arrived in the form of both Pomeroy and Spendlove. Pomeroy came at me as I started to enter the drawing room, where I spied Sir Gideon, but it was Donata muffled in her large coat that he focused on.

  “Best not, your ladyship,” Pomeroy said. “It’s a right mess.”

  “Nonsense,” Donata replied briskly. “Sir Gideon is about to fall down. Let me go to him.” She walked past a frowning Pomeroy and strode to Sir Gideon’s side, catching him as he swayed.

  The drawing room’s tranquility had been much disturbed. The room looked forlorn enough without the family in it, the pianoforte shut and quiet, the harp covered, sewing baskets closed. Now books lay everywhere, having been pulled off shelves and scattered about. An urn of flowers on a pedestal had been overturned, spreading broken blossoms and water across the patterns of the ivory and blue oriental carpet. The ivory of the carpet was marred, near the fireplace, with a large pool of blood.

  A man lay in the middle of the blood, full length, on his back. Someone had closed his eyes, but his face was frozen in a twist of rage and fear. This gentleman was fully clothed, in an evening suit, and he’d been beaten again and again until he’d died.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I looked down at the man and drew a quick breath. “That’s Mackay.”

  He was battered, but I recognized the dark hair, the soft face. A fireplace poker, coated with blood, lay next to him.

  Spendlove came to stand next to me as Donata led Sir Gideon into the adjoining chamber, a smaller sitting room. She did not close the door, and I saw her bend over him as he collapsed onto a chair.

  “Now why am I not surpr
ised you know the deceased, Captain?” Spendlove asked, both of us peering down at Mackay’s lifeless body.

  “I don’t know him,” I said. “I met him only once.”

  “Did you?” Spendlove switched his gaze to me. “And who is he?”

  I looked straight into his eyes, Spendlove ever ready to be suspicious. “I have no idea,” I said. “All I know is his name. Nelson Mackay.”

  “Draws a blank with me,” Spendlove said. “Pomeroy?”

  Pomeroy, still watching Donata and Sir Gideon, shook his head. “He’s a stranger to me, guv.”

  “Tell me how you met him, Captain,” Spendlove said. “Every detail.”

  Spendlove liked to gaze upon a man as though he knew all his thoughts and waited for him to blunder. His light blue eyes fixed on me, his red lashes fading into his freckled face.

  I decided not to lie … very much. Mackay might have been a witness to the attack on Leland and Gareth—and now he was dead.

  “He discovered Mr. Derwent and Mr. Travers in the passage in Seven Dials,” I said. “And he came to find me. Leland asked him to. Mackay arriving at my door in Grimpen Lane was the first time I’d even seen him.”

  “Ah,” Spendlove said. “So this Mackay was a great friend of young Mr. Derwent?”

  I shook my head. “Leland says no. He is not sure where Mackay came from, though he does not remember much about the night.”

  “A well-dressed, soft-handed gent just happened to be wandering about Seven Dials?” Spendlove gave me a long look of disbelief. “How convenient for Mr. Derwent.”

  “Not really,” I said, my voice cold. “He is sore hurt and may not recover, and his closest friend is dead. Whether Mr. Mackay was part of that or not, I suppose we’ll never know.” I folded my arms. “Question the ruffians at the Nines, where Leland objected to their fleecing.”

  “Bow Street at the Nines?” Pomeroy boomed with a grin. “Off-limits for us. Mr. Forge sees to that, if you know what I mean.”

  Spendlove looked pained. “We have been warned off, yes, but if a murder occurred there, Mr. Forge can whistle.”