Death at Brighton Pavilion (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries Book 14)

by Ashley Gardner

  “You should not be left alone then.” Grenville eyed me steadily. “But I’d go down on my knees and beg Donata’s pardon, or she might show you the door. No—to be honest, I believe she would simply retreat from you and pretend to the world that all was well.”

  “All is well. Damnation. I thought married life would bring me peace.”

  Grenville laughed at me, blast the man. “ Marriage is hardly the definition of peace. With a beautiful, accomplished, lively woman, still less so. Guard what you have. Believe me, I take my own advice. Marianne may do with me as she pleases.”

  I sensed a new lightness in Grenville, yet tension also. He was happy, but the price of his happiness was fear of losing it.

  “I will explain things to Donata,” I promised him. “Thank you, once again. Good night.”

  Grenville gave me an encouraging nod and took his leave. I squared my shoulders and walked upstairs, making for Donata’s chamber.

  The door was locked. I tapped on it, and after a time, Jacinthe opened the door a crack. “My lady is abed,” she told me.

  I did not believe her, but now was not the time to force my way in. “Please tell her ladyship to sleep well, and that I look forward to speaking with her tomorrow.”

  Jacinthe could summon a blank expression to rival any empty-eyed statue. “Yes, sir. Good-night, sir.”

  That seemed to be that.

  I sought my own room only to be stopped by Bartholomew. “Mr. Brewster has returned, Captain.” His young face held disapproval. “He wishes to see you on the moment.”

  I wanted my bed, exhausted by the day’s events, but Brewster would not disturb me were it not important. Retaining my dressing gown and slippers, I went downstairs.

  Brewster, as usual, had refused to enter the sitting room, so I met him in the foyer. “His Nibs wants to see you,” he said.

  I studied him in perplexity. “Mr. Denis is in London. He can’t mean for me to travel there tonight.”

  Brewster was already shaking his head. “No, guv. He’s here, in Brighton. At my digs, in fact. Wants to see you—now.”

  Chapter 13

  I saw that Brewster expected me to rush off immediately, perhaps without even bothering to dress.

  “It is late,” I said. “Make an appointment for me to speak to Mr. Denis in the morning. He can call here for breakfast if he wishes.”

  Brewster scowled. “Now you’re joking with me. He’s come a long way and is not in the best temper. It’s only gone midnight.”

  “We retire early in the provinces. Tell him you could not move me.”

  “He won’t believe that, guv. You know I can wrestle you there or strike you down and carry you, so do me a favor and walk yourself. I’m not in the mood to strain me back.”

  “Oh, very well.” I’d already known I’d give in. “My wife is furious with me, so remaining home tonight will not be comfortable. But you will wait until I dress myself. If Donata decides to bolt the doors permanently once I’m out, I prefer to have something more to wear than a banyan.”

  Brewster did not find me amusing, but he conceded to give me ten minutes to shovel myself into clothing with Bartholomew’s assistance.

  Brewster’s lodgings lay around the corner from Donata’s, in a narrow but pleasant lane with cozy houses, each with a patch of garden in front. The garden before Brewster’s cottage held clumps of geraniums and sweet-smelling stocks, with vines of climbing yellow roses pale in the moonlight.

  Several men as large and hard-eyed as Brewster lingered near the house, and one leaned on the railings that separated the garden from the road. A dark carriage waited on the street.

  Lamps lit the house inside, and the landlady and Mrs. Brewster were hastening through the tiny foyer, bearing trays of coffee and food. Mrs. Brewster looked relieved as we entered.

  “There you are, Tommy.” She shoved her tray at him. “Make yourself useful. Mr. Denis brought an entire troop of his men, Captain, and they all want feeding.”

  Mrs. Brewster took another tray from the landlady, sent the woman off to the back stairs, and led me and her husband into a small dining room.

  A table nearly filled this chamber, with little space left for the narrow sideboard. The fireplace was cold and dark, but candles filled sconces and pewter candlesticks on the table, brushing warm light over all.

  James Denis had commandeered one end of the dining table, where he sat quietly, writing on a sheet of paper. I reflected that almost every time I responded to the man’s summons, he contrived to be scribbling something when I entered.

  Two large men had fit themselves awkwardly on the far side of the table, against the shuttered windows. Denis never went anywhere without bodyguards.

  Denis glanced up at me then returned to his missive, writing in swift, neat strokes. Brewster noisily unloaded from his tray a platter of meat, hunks of bread, and slices of meat pie. Mrs. Brewster followed with a coffee pot and cups.

  “There now, Captain,” she said. “I’ve brewed you coffee, as I know you prefer it. Tea for you, Tommy.” She stared pointedly at Denis’s men, both of whom had begun to reach fingers toward the pile of meat. “There’s plates on the sideboard and forks and knives, and cloths to wipe away any mess.”

  The two men exchanged a glance, and one made his way to the sideboard to retrieve plates.

  Denis, who’d not looked up during this exchange, at last laid down his pen and fixed me with his gaze. “Thank you for attending so late, Captain.”

  Brewster had made it clear I’d had no choice. “Urgent matters?” I asked, not bothering to hide my irritation.

  Mrs. Brewster handed me a steaming cup of coffee then proceeded to serve the tea.

  “Please sit.” Denis waved a hand at a chair. “We have traveled all evening and have not dined.”

  It sounded like an apology, of sorts, which surprised me. His men unashamedly took up large portions of meat and bread and backed away to eat them.

  A sip of Mrs. Brewster’s well-brewed coffee calmed me somewhat. “You’d have had time to dine and sleep if you’d waited until morning to speak to me,” I said.

  Denis gave me a hard look from his cold blue eyes. “I understand from all Mr. Brewster has reported to me that you do not regard this situation as dire. I assure you, I believe it is most dangerous. Someone is trying very hard both to ruin you and end your life.”

  I’d raised the cup again but set down the coffee instead of drinking. “I grant that I have been the subject of unfortunate circumstances.”

  “Not the subject. The object. The most obvious was the shot taken at you tonight during the fireworks. Mr. Brewster told me of this when I arrived, but I had already been sufficiently concerned to make the journey down.”

  “I have evoked someone’s ire, yes.” I could hardly deny it. “But I cannot fathom who. My cousin Marcus was the last person who wanted to kill me, but we have reconciled … I believe.”

  “I can think of any number of people who would not mind if you no longer existed.”

  Brewster, behind me, snorted. “Aye, that’s the truth.”

  Denis touched his fingers as he counted off. “Your wife’s in-laws. You and she recently thwarted them from gaining control of her son. Then there are men you have given up to the law, plus the families of such men. Enemies of mine who wish to provoke me. Or someone from your past you have angered or injured. I am certain there are many of those, given your uneven temper and your insistence on righting what you perceive are wrongs.”

  I nodded as he lowered his hand. “I admit I have clashed with many, and they have not fared well from it—I am too interfering for my own good. But why wait until I am on holiday in Brighton to attack? London would be an easier place to get at me.”

  “That is the significant point you have missed.” Denis’s eyes held a grim light. “Why indeed choose now? You arriving here must have triggered the need to target you.”

  I wrapped my fingers around my cup on the table, the coffee pleasantly wa
rm. “Are you saying you believe I did not kill Isherwood? That this was a trap to destroy me?”

  “You might have killed him—I do not know. You could have been forced to do it. Or, as you hope, another set the stage for you to be found over the body. But something went wrong, and you were not found.”

  I had been, by Clement, who I’d turned to aid me.

  “Not long after the colonel’s murder, a young man you were asked to search for turned up dead,” Denis went on. “I doubt it is coincidental. Then, a man holds a loaded weapon and happens to discharge it when you enter a room. Finally, a person follows you tonight until you are alone and shoots at you. Too many things to be random incidents.”

  I could hardly argue—he laid it out in too neat a pattern. “I will have to make a list of my enemies,” I said lightly. “You realize you would be on such a list?”

  “I assure you, Captain, that when I wish you gone, you will be.” Denis’s directness was chilling. “However, these present occurrences are not my doing. I will find out who this malefactor is and stop him.”

  I lifted my coffee once more. “You are going to much trouble. I had no idea I was so useful to you.”

  “I would do so for any of my men. Besides, I believe I will have another mission for you and would prefer you whole so you can achieve it.”

  “I see.” The words were nonchalant but stirred my disquiet. Denis’s missions always turned out to be dangerous, but he made it impossible to refuse them.

  “I would like that list you offer,” Denis continued. “Begin with people you have seen in Brighton, anyone connected with your past.”

  “Major Forbes,” I said at once. “He was never fond of me. But I cannot believe he’d kill Isherwood, or allow him to be killed. He worshiped the man.”

  “Time can alter feelings,” Denis said. “Write the list and send it to me. Add details—where are these people now? Are they likely to make elaborate plans against you? And how will your ruin or death benefit them?”

  I looked at him in annoyance. “I am supposed to be having a holiday.”

  “You will have no holidays if you are dead. Send your wife and family home and run this person to earth.”

  I recalled the burning anger in Donata’s eyes as she’d passed me on the stairs a half hour ago. “My wife,” I said with ironic humor. “She will likely be at the top of the list of those who wish me harm.”

  Denis rested his hands on the table. “Not at all. As in my case, if that lady wished you out of her life, it would happen quickly and permanently. Reconcile with her and help me solve this problem. I need your services.”

  He made clear that keeping myself from harm did him a favor. I did not know whether to laugh or grow enraged.

  Denis closed his mouth and simply gazed at me, which I knew indicated the interview was over. Instead of hurrying obediently away, I deliberately lingered to finish my coffee.

  Brewster shot me a warning look as we walked back to the square. “One day he’ll have enough of your cheek. When he decides to teach you a lesson, he’ll probably use me to do it. To teach me a lesson too.”

  He sounded so morose that I turned to him in surprise. “I’d have thought you be glad to land your fists in my face.”

  “I’ve grown too fond of you, and he knows it. We’re not meant to be friends.”

  I was touched by his words. Brewster had done much for me over the past year or so, and I’d given him much trouble in return.

  To cover the awkward moment, I said heartily, “I’ll make certain I irritate you until you’re ready to plant your boot in my arse.”

  “Oh, you already do that,” Brewster said darkly. “Now let’s get you home so I can take to me bed.”

  I did not want to leave things where they were with Donata. A conversation should clear up the matter, I was confident. But when I returned, her door was shut fast, and I did not have the heart to bang on it and wake her.

  Bartholomew, who was clearly curious about where I’d been, took my clothes as I shed them and dropped my nightshirt over my head. I told him the bare outline of what Denis and I had discussed, and asked him to get word of it to Grenville if I did not see the man sooner.

  At last I went to bed, but I could not sleep. The spike of fear that had pumped through me when the pistol had gleamed in the darkness now spread its way past my defenses, making me shiver and sweat.

  Such reactions had crept upon me during my soldiering days, when I’d realized hours after a furious battle that I was still alive. The line between life and death had been thin, and finding myself on the living side had sometimes shaken me.

  In those days, I’d been young, reckless, and selfish and hadn’t much cared whether I survived, and I’d shaken off my qualms. Now I had a wife, I’d found my daughter, I had a son in Peter, and a new baby daughter I longed to watch grow up. I had no wish to be the goal of another man’s vendetta.

  What Denis speculated made sense. I had gone through my life imposing my will on many—I’d commanded men in the army who’d died, I’d helped send murderers to the noose, and I’d become known as James Denis’s man. Any of his enemies, or mine, or families or friends of those I’d harmed could have decided it was time for me to pay.

  The thought that Donata, Gabriella, Peter, or Anne might pay for my sins filled me with horror. A madman might well decide to harm them to hurt me.

  When I at last slept, I dreamt, oddly, of gliding over the sea in a small boat. Donata and my family were with me, seemingly enjoying themselves. I held the sides of the boat, waiting for terrible things to happen, but nothing did.

  I rose in the morning after the fitful sleep to find Bartholomew waiting to bathe and shave me for the day.

  It was early, and Donata would be asleep. Her closed door and the silence behind it confirmed that.

  I looked in on Anne in the nursery, making her laugh as I bounced her in my arms. I held her close, remembering my fears of the previous night, then returned her to the hovering nanny and breakfasted with Peter and Gabriella.

  It was a fine morning, and I needed a walk to clear my head. Gabriella was to visit Lady Aline—the lady’s carriage would call for her at ten. I was reluctant for her to go, but I knew Lady Aline and her retinue of servants would keep Gabriella safe. I waited until the carriage arrived and saw her into it myself, and ordered one of our strongest footmen to accompany her. Gabriella glanced at me in curiosity as we said our farewells, but did not argue.

  Peter, on the other hand, insisted he join me on my walk. I did not want to let him, but I also knew if I ordered him to stay home, he’d simply slip out and follow me. Better that I had him next to me where I could watch over him.

  Brewster, who uncannily knew whenever I stepped out of my door, met us at the end of the square. I kept to the broad promenade along the sea as we strolled. No tiny lanes or shadowy passageways today.

  Peter, as usual, wanted to play on the shore. He liked to pick up rocks and skim them across the water, as I had done as a boy. I accompanied him, and we looked for flat specimens and practiced pitching them.

  I turned back from one go to see Mr. Bickley picking his way across the shingle to us. He was dressed all in black, his coat billowing with the wind, a broad hat firmly on his head.

  I went forward to meet him, Brewster staying next to Peter but keeping an eye on me.

  “Mr. Bickley,” I said in a kind tone. “I have not had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

  The man raised his head and regarded me bleakly. “It is God’s will.”

  His words were flat, uninflected, but I saw the grief deep in his eyes.

  “I know,” I answered. “But we who are left behind do not always find comfort in that.”

  “I lost my wife some years ago,” Bickley went on, as though I had not spoken. “And my brother after that, in the war—he was not a Quaker. I thought saying good-bye to them the hardest tasks I had undertaken. I was wrong.”

  Losing a child wa
s something none of us should endure. For too long a time I’d been uncertain whether Gabriella lived or died. When I’d found her alive, my entire world had glowed with new light, a curtain of darkness dissolving.

  “If I can help in any way,” I began. “I am devastated that I did not find Joshua before the worst happened.”

  “No.” Bickley’s word was sharp as he focused on me. “Thou art not to blame, Gabriel. I am.”

  Chapter 14

  I stared at Bickley, wondering if he were confessing to murdering his own son.

  The man drew a breath and continued as wind brought us the sharp smell of the sea. “The fault is mine for my wickedness. Joshua died for my sins.”

  I was relieved he spoke metaphorically. “The guilt is not with you, sir. An evil man has done this, and I intend to discover who.”

  Bickley studied me with empty eyes. “How will that matter? Then another will lose his life, his family will be ruined, and none of that will return my boy to me.”

  His words gave me a pang of uneasiness. Murderers were hanged, but that never stopped more innocents from being killed. What did we achieve?

  Then again, I would not let whoever murdered that poor lad get away with it.

  I thought Bickley would say more, but he only gazed at me and then beyond at Peter. A profound sadness came over him, the stiff breeze tugging his coat.

  I had no idea how to comfort him. Any words that came to me sounded inadequate in my head, so I kept them confined there.

  Bickley’s focus drifted back to me. “After the inquest, I will leave Brighton and go to Chichester. My half-sister has agreed that I will dwell with her.”

  I gave him a nod. “I hope you find peace there.”

  “I was supposed to find peace here,” Bickley said. “Good afternoon, Gabriel. And good-bye.”

  He held out his hand, and I shook it. Bickley’s eyes welled with tears as he clung to me for a few seconds.

  Then he released me, turned abruptly, and marched across the shingle, making for the main part of town.