“If the pair of you lived at the barracks, this would never have happened,” Forbes growled. “Why you need a fancy house on the edge of town …”
Isherwood held up his hand, and to my surprise, Forbes clamped his mouth closed. The young man, a colonel like his father, outranked him, yes, but from what I remembered, Forbes had never been the obedient sort. Young Isherwood must have commanded his respect.
“As I say, we have not—and those at the Pavilion have not—announced he was murdered,” Isherwood went on. “It would cause a sensation that the Regent cannot afford, and neither would the regiment want it. Nor do I.” Isherwood gave me an apologetic look. “We have put about that he felt unwell in the night and died of a sudden illness.”
“Should send for the Runners,” Forbes muttered. “Villain is probably far out to sea by now.”
“I can only believe it was some ghastly accident,” Isherwood said. “My father could be … prickly. Perhaps he quarreled with a man, or did something as foolish as challenge him to a duel, and was run through in the heat of the moment.”
“And the blackguard fled,” Forbes said. “Heading for Paris or Amsterdam, never to be seen again.”
“In that case, little we can do.” Isherwood’s voice hardened. “I will, of course, if the villain can be found, prosecute and bring him to justice. But damned if I’ll let my father’s death be fodder for the newspapers or the morbid masses, who enjoy flocking to scenes of murders. Not what I want marring my father’s memory.”
“I understand,” I said. He was not wrong—when murders occurred, especially in out-of-the way places, people swarmed to the scene of the grisly crime to gape at the scene and take small things, even pebbles or nails, as souvenirs.
The Prince Regent would hardly want a mob to surround the Pavilion and worse, try to enter and take whatever they found. With the renovation going on, there would be plenty of costly building supplies lying about and not enough men to guard the doors.
I moved uneasily. The scenario young Isherwood described—his father quarreling heatedly, the man he argued with lifting the nearest sword and impaling him in anger—I could have done exactly that. If I’d lost my temper, as I was wont, and been far gone on drink ...
And why could I remember nothing? Even the events of the supper and after were blurry. I’d always considered my father teetering on the edge of insanity—perhaps he truly had been, and now that madness had trickled to me.
“Captain Lacey, I have heard from others that you sometimes assist the Runners,” Isherwood said. “Discreetly. I wonder if you can help?”
He put it as a question, but I had a feeling that this young man had made up his mind and was close to making it a command. He had a natural air of authority that not every officer achieved. I’d made my men obedient with my loud shouts and hot temper, but I imagined Giles Isherwood rarely had to raise his voice.
I could not very well refuse. What else could I tell him? That I would not help, because I had to suspect myself?
I gave him a bow. “I will be happy to assist in any small way I can.”
Isherwood acknowledged this with a nod. “Thank you, Captain.” He clasped my hand. “Nothing to be made public.” His handshake firmed as he said the words.
“I agree,” I said.
Isherwood looked into my eyes, his own so like his father’s, and released me.
We said good evening—nothing more to do—and I departed. Major Forbes’s only farewell was a growl.
Brewster leaned against the railings at the end of the crescent, surveying the curve of houses as he waited for me.
“Easy pickings,” he remarked as I joined him.
“I beg your pardon?” I paused to catch my breath, still nonplussed by the interview.
Brewster waved at the houses. “Windows close to the ground, none but seagulls to see a thief from the other side of the road. Residents probably don’t even lock up their valuables, thinking all is safe because they’re on holiday.” He sounded disapproving.
“Please curb your tendencies,” I said. “I have enough troubles without having to save you from arrest.”
Brewster blinked at me in surprise. “I don’t need to do them over. Just observing. Professional like. His Nibs would have me balls if I did some thieving on me own.”
“What about the Pavilion?” I began walking along the seafront in the direction of our lodgings. “What is your professional opinion about it?”
“As it’s covered in scaffolding inside and out? Easy pickings again, guv. Valuables would be locked away, but I’d wager they’re in boxes, what are convenient for carrying.”
“So a man could get into and out of the Pavilion unseen? Including Colonel Isherwood and myself, it seems. A man could meet him, stab him to death, and be gone again, with no one the wiser.”
“That’s what happened, most like,” Brewster said. “Lots of holes where doors and windows should be. Bloke could slip in with the workmen. Hide. Wait. Stab, and be out.” He glanced up the road that led to the Pavilion as we passed it. “Shame. All those costly trinkets just sitting there. A man could have enough to make a killing at the next Nazareth, without having to kill in truth.”
“I doubt a robber murdered Isherwood. An interrupted thief would have dropped his loot and run, I’d think. Too risky to tussle with Isherwood, a trained and experienced soldier. Also, I believe the Regent would kick up a fuss if any of his things went missing.”
“You may be right,” Brewster conceded. “The downstairs at Isherwood’s don’t know much. Young colonel lived in the house with his father, but sometimes they spent nights at the barracks. Kitchen couldn’t praise the son enough. A true gentleman, they say. Won’t miss the father much, I’m thinking.”
“Did any of them see him leave last night?” I asked.
“No, more’s the pity. Master came home after his night with the Regent and went up to bed. So all the staff toddles to bed after. Scullery maid swears she heard a door open around three in the morning, but she’s not a reliable sort. Soon as cook told her she couldn’t have heard nothing of the kind, and then the maid says, no, she didn’t.”
Which meant she might have heard the door but hadn’t been instructed in time to keep quiet about it. Or she hadn’t heard at all and the cook was correct that the scullery maid liked to invent things.
“My wife’s servants are utterly loyal to her,” I mused. “Would lie themselves blue to help her.”
“They would,” Brewster agreed. “Right pompous about it, are her ladyship’s slaveys. Not sure the colonel’s would, but they’re loyal to the son, I can see. Raised him, some of them did. His mum died when he was a wee tyke.”
I’d known that. The wife who’d accompanied Isherwood on the Peninsula had been his second, and his son hadn’t been there or even mentioned. Giles might have been at university or working on his own army career elsewhere at the time.
“If they thought they needed to protect the son, they’d lie, do you think?” I asked Brewster.
“That they would, guv. ’Tis my humble opinion.”
Were the servants, in fact, protecting young Isherwood? If Giles had followed his father and killed him, for whatever reason, he would have strong incentive to keep the murder from being generally known. But if true, why ask me to help?
“What did you learn from the upstairs?” Brewster asked as we passed the fish market. It was shut for the day, as most of its business happened in the morning, but strong odors lingered in its shadows.
“That Captain—no, Major—Forbes remembers me from Salamanca and was not pleased to see me.”
“Mmm. Not good news, I’m thinking.”
“Not really, no. I also learned that young Isherwood is indeed a gentleman and can cow Forbes easily.”
Brewster’s brows twitched. “What terrible things did you do to the major at this salamander place?”
“Salamanca,” I said. “In Spain, near the border of Portugal. We chased a French regiment about th
e hills there. Wellington was ready to turn for Portugal when he saw that the French lines had become scattered, and he turned and struck. Quick battle, definite victory, quite the coup for Wellington. Isherwood and Forbes were in another cavalry regiment, but we’d camped together and then stayed in Salamanca once we kicked the French out of their strongholds.”
Brewster listened in skepticism. “Did you embarrass this Forbes or Colonel Isherwood in battle or some such? Fought better than they did? No idea what goes on in the army, guv.”
He finished without apology. Brewster thought soldiering a mad game and had told me so on many occasions.
“I never saw them during the actual battle. Had my own men to look after.” What I mostly remembered was July heat, dust, noise, screaming, shouting, strength surging as I cut with my saber. I’d been a whole man then, not supporting my shattered knee with a walking stick.
“Well then?” Brewster was not going to let go of it.
“My quarrel with Isherwood was after the battle,” I said carefully. “It was a drama of army life and finished long ago.”
Brewster waited, but when I was no more forthcoming, he gave me a narrow look. “You mean both Isherwood and Forbes would cheerfully have killed you. Can’t say I blame them. I’m sure you did something to get right up their backs, and knowing you, it were something bad.” He shook his head and gazed out to the gray sea. “I truly don’t know how you’ve lived this long on your own.”
“Neither do I.” I studied the sea with him, wishing I were on it, heading back to Egypt or another exotic and warm place. “Nothing for it, Brewster. I will have to prove that I did not—or perhaps did—run Isherwood through. If I did …”
Brewster pulled me to a halt, his grip hard, and spoke in a quiet but fierce voice. “If ye did kill the man, you’ll not be throwing yourself at the magistrate, confessing such and getting yourself strung up to dance on the wind. You’ll let His Nibs sort it out and take you off somewhere safe. Won’t do your wife and kiddies no good if you kiss the hangman.”
He was right. Donata could be ruined if it turned out she’d married a murderer, and neither would my daughters live it down. In our world, scandal stuck and could destroy entire families. Peter might survive it—he was not my true son, and he was a peer, if in his minority at the moment. Peers weathered their unfortunate relations better than the rest of us. Donata would find protection at her father’s house, and Gabriella could return to France to her mother and stepfather, but Anne would always be tainted by my misdeeds.
I sighed and resumed the walk. “If it turns out I am guilty of this crime, I will have to swallow my pride and everything I believe right, and throw myself on the mercy of His Nibs.”
Brewster gave me a dumbfounded look. “Fatherhood has changed you, guv.”
“It has. It did both times.” I thought of Anne and how she’d given me her baby smile when I’d looked in on her before I’d left this afternoon. “I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”
When we reached home, Donata appeared on the upper landing of the staircase of our rather dainty house. She wore a loose gown with her hair caught in a simple knot—I knew from experience she’d been at her evening toilette and must have exited her chamber when she’d heard me come in.
“There you are,” she said with obvious relief. “I thought perhaps you’d disappeared again.”
“Not with Brewster to look after me.” I tried to sound unworried, but she was not reassured.
Brewster had already ducked down the back stairs for a cup of something, leaving me to Bartholomew, who busied himself putting away my coat and hat.
“Mr. Brewster didn’t look after you last night,” Donata said as I climbed to her.
“Not his fault. If I remain stolidly at home tonight, I will give him the evening off. He deserves the rest.”
My wife sent me an impatient look. “You cannot remain stolidly at home—we have already planned to attend the lecture. Grenville and Marianne are meeting us, as are several of my acquaintances. The entertainment is a bit provincial, I know, but I did promise.” She babbled a bit, her nervousness apparent.
I reached her, took her firmly by the shoulders, and stopped her words by firmly kissing her mouth. Donata gave me a startled look as I pulled away, and I continued past her up the stairs.
“Gabriel …” Her voice was faint behind me.
“I will prepare to go out, have no fear.” I reached my chamber, the first room at the top of the stairs. “But I want you with me all night. No going off on your own.”
Without further word, I entered my chamber and closed the door. I wondered, as I pulled off my cravat, if I meant she should stay near me for her protection or for mine.
I had Bartholomew turn me out in my regimentals. Tonight, for some reason, I wanted to appear as myself, not in the highly fashionable suits Grenville’s tailor made for me and Donata paid for. I usually allowed them to dress me as they saw fit, having no wish to embarrass my friends, but some days I wanted to put off the costume and resume my own skin.
Donata gave me a sharp look as I appeared in my cavalry blues, with its white facings and silver braid, my boots—the only concession I made to a new item—gleaming with polish.
She said nothing, however, only took my arm so I could lead her downstairs. She was in a light gown for summer, a gauzy affair of green and blue. A single feather stuck straight up from the small turban she wore over her midnight hair.
The carriage awaited. Brighton was a small enough city that even I could walk across it in little time, but we needed to arrive in style. Jacinthe, Donata’s lady’s maid, rode stiffly upright on the top of the carriage, carrying Donata’s slipper box and a bag with anything she might wish while she was out of the house.
We traveled northward to Church Street and then east to Marlborough Place, which lay north of the Pavilion. I glanced at the building whose scaffolding was now vanishing into the late twilight, expecting a shiver of horror or perhaps a slap of memory, but nothing came to me. The Pavilion was simply a great house with odd domes shimmering in the rising moonlight.
The coachman let us out in front of a private home, where we would listen to a lecture. Gabriella would meet us here, under the chaperonage of Lady Aline Carrington. Anticipating my daughter’s presence was the one reason I had not argued with Donata about going out tonight.
Our hostess was an old friend of Donata’s. She had married an army officer who’d been a commanding general on the Peninsula. He hadn’t been in charge of my regiment, but I remembered the general as a man with a sensible head on his shoulders.
I greeted him and his wife, the four of us mouthing politenesses. I would have enjoyed a good long talk with the general, but for now, we could only give each other a “Good Evening,” mention the weather, and move into the drawing room.
“Father.” My daughter hurried to me eagerly, never shy, and kissed my cheek. “Are you well?”
She peered at me anxiously. She’d spent the day with Lady Aline, who now followed her slowly. The two ladies must have speculated about my strange affliction and disappearance in the night.
“I appear to be,” I said. “A commotion over nothing. It seems I imbibed a bit too much at supper.”
“Not like you,” Gabriella said in concern.
She was kind. I tended to moderate myself while my children were in the house, but there had been times in my life when I’d been roaring and most obnoxiously drunk. I was a merry fellow when heavily in my cups, but still nothing I wanted my daughter to see.
“A man can grow immoderate when he is enjoying himself,” I said. “But I will take care not to let it happen again.”
Gabriella nodded, but continued to regard me in worry.
I bowed to Lady Aline and remarked upon how fortunate I was to lead two such lovely ladies to their seats.
“You’re a liar, but a charming one,” Lady Aline said, giving me a smile. “So pleasant to see you, dear boy.”
Grenville arrive
d while we exchanged compliments, Marianne on his arm. All eyes turned to them, the sensation of Grenville having actually married his actress mistress removing any attention from me.
Newspapers and magazines had already thoroughly lambasted Grenville for his misalliance, which he’d taken with aplomb. His true friends, however, had been far more forgiving. Those who’d decided to shun him had lost popularity and so were beginning to toady up again.
Marianne, for her part, had taken on her role as Mrs. Grenville with enjoyment, acting the benevolent matron with thorough enthusiasm. Her new demeanor unnerved me, but I knew that beneath it lay fear she’d embarrass Grenville. She cared about him enough, I could see, to try to charm all in his circle.
Grenville and Marianne moved among the guests with great dignity, as though they were royalty greeting the masses. Marianne had dressed in an elegant silver and blue gown, but the décolletage was modest, as was the skirt. Her days of wearing the thinnest muslin clinging to her every curve were at an end.
Behind Grenville came a bishop I recognized from the supper last night—Craddock, I believed was his name—a surly but robust man who’d expressed displeasure at the many Dissenters Brighton attracted. A man who would have been happier at a large church in the middle of London.
After him, unnoticed by all but the host and hostess, were a couple who had also been at supper.
Viscount … Armitage … the name came to me. And his lady wife. When I gazed at them, something tickled the back of my mind, a tickle that grew to thunder and began to bang hard inside my head.
Chapter 5
My weak knee suddenly faltered. I barely caught myself on my walking stick, my leg twisting and sending fire up my limb.
“Are you all right, my boy?” Lady Aline asked in concern.
I scarcely heard her through the buzz in my ears. My daughter’s eyes, a brilliant blue, came through the fog, and I anchored myself with the sight of them.
“My slippers pinch so,” Gabriella said, hand on my arm. “Will you sit with me until the lecture begins?”
Death at Brighton Pavilion (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries Book 14) Page 4
