Grenville hurried to us. “I have come to the conclusion that dueling with pistols is far too tame. Beating Dunmarron to a pulp was exhilarating. I believe I’d have gone on beating him if Denis’s men hadn’t pulled me off.”
Bartholomew and Matthias, who’d arrived with Brewster, now came into the clearing with Lucas’s body balanced over Bartholomew’s left shoulder.
“Where do ye want him, sir?” Bartholomew asked cheerfully.
Denis broke in. “A good question. What do you want done with these men, Captain?”
He asked as though the decision was entirely mine. Denis was a man who could do almost anything he liked, whether I wished it or not, and yet he was leaving the fate of these gentlemen up to me, politely. If I told him to take Lucas and Dunmarron to the middle of the English Channel and dump them in, throwing Rafe after them for good measure, he’d see that it was done.
Dunmarron understood that. The look he gave me was one of pure terror. If Lucas showed no remorse, Dunmarron had all sorts of it, or at least he had fear of the consequences.
“Give them to Spendlove,” I said. “He is so insistent on finding a culprit for this crime, we’ll hand him three. Godwin is not guiltless, so he’ll go too.”
Denis only studied me. He knew my anger, but I made myself not ask Denis to disembowel Dunmarron and Lucas to exact vengeance for Donata and Marianne. It was a close-run thing, but I held my tongue. I am ashamed to say my decision had more to do with the fact that being hanged for their murders would take me away from my family than any sense of morality or duty.
I would have to let Spendlove and the magistrates do their jobs. Dunmarron would probably be let off. He was a peer, he had the money to pay for an eloquent barrister to help him, and he had not actually killed Higgs nor done many of the thefts himself—he’d provided the funds for the enterprise, I imagined. He might even decide to turn on Lucas.
Lucas would face a jury in the common courts. His father was a marquess, but Lucas would not be a peer until his father died, and so he’d have the same sort of trial as any of the rest of us. His father would no doubt attempt to intervene, but Spendlove could be merciless. Lucas would probably hang, which he should for killing Higgs, and most of all for endangering my wife.
I had a feeling Donata would enter the witness box and cheerfully tell the jury every sordid thing Lucas had done and said to her today. She would take the view that Lucas should be ashamed, not her. Donata was that sort of person.
“Let Spendlove have them,” I repeated to Denis, not looking at either culprit. “And Godwin, if he hasn’t run like a hare. May God have mercy on their souls.”
Denis met my gaze, understanding. He, at least, had a conscience, no matter how often he’d had to bury it to survive. I now understood the difference between men like Denis and men like Lucas and the surgeon.
Denis gave me a curt nod, signaled to his ruffians, and turned to his carriage. How he’d get Lucas and Dunmarron into the Bow Street magistrate’s house without Spendlove trying to clap Denis himself in chains I did not know, but I did not much care at the moment.
His men seized Dunmarron, who surprisingly didn’t protest, and carried him along, Bartholomew following with Lucas dangling from his big shoulder. Brewster walked close to Bartholomew, keeping a sharp eye on Lucas’s inert body.
Once they were gone, I sank into Donata, my legs no longer supporting my weight. Grenville held me up from the other side. A fine trio we made, torn, bleeding, and exhausted. The crowd from the auction had come out to see what all the fuss was about, and now they stared and jabbered. We’d be in the newspapers for a long time.
Matthias helped us to Donata’s carriage, driven toward us by a worried Hagen, and assisted the three of us inside. There we collapsed, Donata and I on one seat, Grenville on the other. We rode, dazed and weary, back to London.
* * *
When I was next sensible enough to think, I lay in a comfortable bed enclosed by green silk hangings, and I was curled around my wife. Morning sunshine poured through the window, the rain abated for now. The day would be clear and crisp, perfect for riding, but I found I could not move.
Donata slept next to me, her hair tickling my nose. I was not certain exactly how we’d come to be in the house and fallen into bed, but I know we’d sought each other in the dark, celebrating the fact that we were both alive, whole, and safe.
I vaguely recalled Hagen driving off with Grenville, promising me he’d take him to Great Wild Street rather than home. I was dimly curious about what had happened between him and Marianne when they met, but not curious enough yet to seek out Grenville and ask.
As I lay entwined with Donata, enjoying her warmth, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “Good morning,” she mumbled. “If it is morning.”
“If you are awake, it must be past noon,” I said, kissing her hair.
“Tease.” She snaked one hand from under the covers and touched my nose. Then she groaned. “Oh, I am growing old. I am sore and stiff and unwilling to rise.”
I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You were exuberant.”
Donata, who was usually quite nonchalant about her appetites, flushed. “As were you. I was very glad that I did not have to watch you die.”
“Likewise,” I said fervently. “Why on earth did you let Lucas take you to that folly?”
“Let is not the word, Gabriel.” Donata’s eyes flickered with remembered fear. “I tried to leave the auction room to find out what you were up to, and Lucas intercepted me outside. Told me he was terribly worried about something, and would I help him. It was not until he steered me out of earshot of absolutely everyone that I knew to be afraid. Then he began berating me, telling me I had to help him because I owed him for not marrying him. I was to instruct my coachman to take him to Dover and pay for his passage to France or the Low Countries. When I tried to evade him and run back to find you, he drew the knife and took me into that folly to, as he put it, talk some sense into me. He was quite mad.”
“I know.” I kissed her hair again, trying to comfort her. “But he’s finished. Spendlove badly wants a conviction for the thefts and Higgs’s murder, and Lucas will do. Even if Lucas’s father gets him off, he’ll be ruined and forced to flee England. We won’t see him again.”
Donata buried her face in my shoulder. She shivered, my brave wife, and I grew angry at Lucas all over again. The sight of Lucas with his arm around Donata, the knife at her throat, had filled me with dread and grief, the same I’d felt when she’d lain in her father’s house, close to death while bringing in Anne. Two men with no emotions had stepped into her life—Lucas to try to kill her, the surgeon to save her.
I held Donata close. Comforting each other segued into something more, and afterward I slept again.
When I next opened my eyes, it was to see, through the half-open bed curtains, Bartholomew setting a tray on a table. He twitched the curtains all the way open, letting in bright daylight. I groaned.
Donata, on the other hand, blinked and yawned. “Good afternoon, Bartholomew. Is that coffee? You are a splendid lad.”
Donata and I were bare under the covers, but valets saw their masters and mistresses in all sorts of situations. I kept the blankets firmly under Donata’s chin as Bartholomew poured coffee into porcelain cups and set one on the night table on Donata’s side of the bed, one on my side. Then he pointed at the tray of covered dishes.
“There’s eggs here, and sausages, ham, and beef. Toasted bread oozing butter as you like it, Captain. More coffee here, your newspapers, and oh …”
Bartholomew lifted a small package wrapped in paper and laid it next to Donata’s cup. “For you, my lady. Delivered not an hour ago.”
“From whom?” Donata started to sit up in spite of my efforts to protect her modesty. She ignored me, holding the sheet to cover herself as she reached for the package.
“Not certain,” Bartholomew said turning back to the tray. “Big man brought it. Looked like one of Mr. De
nis’s.”
The rustle of paper crowded his words as Donata broke the plain wax seal that held the package together and unwrapped it.
An oval fell into her hand, from which a lady with a bare bosom smiled up at her. Donata sighed in delight.
“I do like her,” she said. “So cheeky.”
I plucked up the card that had lain on the paper beneath the painting and read its few words. With my compliments. J.D.
“He went back for it,” Donata said. “How very splendid.”
Bartholomew, who had glanced hastily away when he’d seen the nude in the painting, now held up a newspaper. “It’s all in here, Captain.” He opened to a page and pointed to the middle column.
Brawl in Surrey, in which several Prominent Gentlemen were arrested for Theft on the Highest Order and a Marquess’ son is accused of Murder.
Instead of handing me the newspaper, Bartholomew set it down again. “But they have most of it wrong. I was there at Bow Street when they were taken in.”
He had carried Lucas to Denis’s carriage, I remembered. I’d seen nothing of Bartholomew after that.
Donata made a noise of exasperation. “Do tell us, Bartholomew. I know you are craving to.”
Bartholomew looked pleased and cleared his throat. “Mr. Denis, he asks me to come with him to London to help make sure his lordship and His Grace don’t get away. He said he needed strapping lads to hold them down. Me and Mr. Denis’s men did that all right, and so did Mr. Brewster. Mr. Brewster enjoyed it a little too much, between you and me, sir. They was already down, wasn’t they? Didn’t matter—he’d give them a cosh every once in a while. But, he was like that when we was out in Egypt, wasn’t he?”
“Mr. Brewster comes from a different world, Bartholomew,” I said. “I, for one, am not unhappy that he made his disapprobation known. Pray continue.”
“Well, it was the maddest thing, sir. Mr. Denis had his coachman drive straight to Bow Street. Mr. Denis gets down from the carriage himself, takes Lord Lucas over his own shoulder. Lord Lucas is awake now and yelling. Mr. Denis walks inside the Bow Street magistrate’s house, spies Mr. Spendlove and Mr. Pomeroy, strides over to them, and dumps Lord Lucas in front of their boots. The man who’s been stealing priceless artwork from His Royal Highness, he announces. And his accomplice, he adds, as me and Mr. Brewster and one of his other men drag His Grace in between us. Mr. Denis looks at Mr. Spendlove, and the magistrate who’s come down to see what is happening, bows to them, turns on his heel, and walks out. Not too fast, not too slow, no arrogance. He just goes. He climbs back into his coach, signals his driver, and he rolls away. The rest of us had to scramble to grab on before we was left behind. You should have seen it, sir.” Bartholomew ended on a note of admiration.
Donata’s delight had grown as she listened. “Mr. Denis knows how to put on a performance, I will grant him that. I do hope that is the last we see of Mr. Spendlove.”
I agreed, but remained skeptical. Spendlove was nothing if not determined. But perhaps such a conspicuous arrest for an audacious crime would keep him mollified.
Bartholomew, pleased he’d held us enthralled with his tale, left us to our breakfast. Donata and I devoured the meal hungrily, I feeling decadent for lolling in bed while breakfasting.
We tried to get on with our day as we usually would—Donata dressing and making calls, I reading, riding, meeting with acquaintances, spending time with Peter and Anne—but neither of us could put much interest into it, other than our time with our children. We’d both had a bad fright, and we would not recover for a while.
I made myself ride in Hyde Park, avoiding the fashionable areas and seeking less-traveled paths. Donata resolutely put on her finest feathers and went out for her calls, but I could see her tremble as she briskly requested her carriage. She’d go to Lady Aline’s first, she told me, before she kissed my cheek and departed. I imagined she’d linger there, letting Aline’s kindness and no-nonsense ways comfort her.
I read the newspaper accounts of the arrest of Lord Lucas and the Duke of Dunmarron, noting that Bartholomew was correct to say their accounts were not the same as his. The newspapers reported that it was the Runner, Spendlove, who’d made the arrests and discovered what these shameful aristocrats had been up to. Lord Lucas was in Newgate now, sent there by the magistrate, awaiting trial for murder.
His Grace of Dunmarron, as I’d suspected, did not fare the same. He loudly put the blame of the murder on Lucas, claiming he had not known quite what Lucas was up to in regard to the thefts. Dunmarron had been released by the magistrate but told to remain at home until the trial. The newspaper had gone on to talk about the other things Dunmarron had done, both rude and foolish—the man would not be able to lift his head for a while.
Rafe Godwin, apparently, had got off completely. He’d virtuously announced he knew everything Lucas had done but denied any part in it. He’d been shocked and scandalized, but too afraid of what Lucas would do if he told. For lack of evidence against Godwin, he’d also been told to go home until called as a witness in Lucas’s trial.
Dunmarron and Godwin had been let off far too lightly, I thought in anger. But then I remembered the vast fear in Dunmarron’s eyes when Denis had calmly asked me what I wanted done with him. If anyone could keep His Grace cowed and tamed, it was Denis.
I contemplated this as I rode in the sunny park, letting the outing soothe me. My name had not been in the newspapers, or Donata’s, though Grenville had been mentioned as bringing Dunmarron to justice with his fists. However, my part and Donata’s in this would be known by few, to my relief.
When I returned from my ride, I found Brewster at the house, as well as a letter in the post from Freddy Hilliard. I snatched up the letter, ready to break the seal, but Brewster, who’d come up the back stairs as I’d entered by the front door, placed himself before me.
“His nibs wants to see you.”
My brows rose. “Are you running errands for him again? I thought I employed you.”
Brewster shrugged. “I’m giving you my notice. Mr. Denis wants me back with him.”
I felt a pang of disappointment. I’d rather liked the camaraderie we’d been forming. “And you wish to be? Do I not pay you enough, Brewster?”
I said the last in jest, but Brewster shook his head in all seriousness. “His nibs will pay what I ask, but it ain’t blunt I’m worried about. Truth to tell, it’s a bit more restful working for Mr. Denis than for you. In his house, I know what I’m about.”
Whereas here, he had to put up with my unpredictable comings and goings, as well as the snobbishness of Donata’s servants.
“I understand,” I said. “It must be trying to work for me.”
“It is, guv. Never know what you’re going to take into your head to do, such as go after a man armed with a knife without fetching me first. If I don’t work for ye, and ye get yourself killed, it won’t be my fault.”
“It will be entirely mine, I know. But I did not wish to go in search of you while a man was threatening my wife. However, I do thank you for your timely arrival.”
Brewster studied the ceiling. “Almost wasn’t timely, if you know what I mean. A second later, I’d have been explaining to Mr. Denis why I hadn’t looked after you proper.”
“Well, I hope he does not assign you to other duties,” I said sincerely. “I count you as a friend, Brewster, and I’d hate to lose your company.”
“Oh, he wants me to go on watching you,” Brewster said heavily. “But that ain’t a reward, trust me. We’d best go, guv. Mr. Denis ain’t one for patience.”
Chapter 25
Denis was writing a letter when Brewster and I entered his study. He kept his attention on the page, his pen scratching, as I took a seat, and Brewster stood by the fire, warming his hands.
After a few moments, Denis laid down his pen, blotted his sheet, and slid the papers aside. Only then did he lift his eyes to me.
“Did you teach Poppy that?” I asked before he could speak. I
waved my hand at the letter. “Writing or making notes before deigning to speak to those you’ve summoned?”
Denis’s expression did not change. “No,” he said. “She taught me.”
This took me aback. “I see,” was all I could think of to say.
“You very likely do not. I called you here to apologize , Captain.”
Not at all what I’d expected. I blinked a few times before I said, “That isn’t necessary. I thank you for taking care of Lucas and Dunmarron.”
A faint twitch of lips. “I enjoyed it. No, I apologize for the threats I made to your family.” He spoke as calmly as ever, as though going through a formality. “I warned you off, you see, because I did not want you to simply give anyone you could put your hands on to Spendlove in order to pacify him. I did not know who was committing the thefts, which annoyed me, and I wanted to find out before you turned people over to the magistrates. When I heard you’d spoken to Mr. Boxall, I worried for him. He is a man who is useful to me. Poppy too, is useful.”
He said useful, but I saw the pained look on his face. Denis did not employ people he did not trust, and he did not trust many.
“Did you know Billy was faking things from Carlton House?” I asked. “Until you interrogated him, I mean?”
Denis gave a faint shake of his head. “Not until I saw the statue you’d purchased and the copy in Carlton House. I suspected it was his work, and Mr. Floyd thought the same when he was released—I had not had the opportunity to consult with Mr. Floyd after his arrest. I was puzzled. When I found Billy, it became clear—he told me everything except, as I said, the identities of his employers—and I feared you were up against dangerous men. He said that the thieves were using private auctions to pass the things to buyers, which was wise, as they could enter the items under a false name and collect the proceeds afterward. I pried from Billy where the next auction would be held—they often had him deliver the pieces himself—and I told Poppy to pass the information to you. I did not communicate with you directly, because I did not want the thieves to know I was involved. I decided they’d betray themselves more quickly if it was put about that I was not assisting you, and in fact had told you to keep out of the matter.”
A Mystery at Carlton House Page 27
