“My apologies,” I said. “I did not mean to upset you. I am looking into the circumstances of Finch’s death for … er, a friend. I was surprised to hear you were brave enough to bring charges against him. He intimidated so many.”
Leeds shrugged, his composure restored. “Well, the patroller who arrested him took him to the magistrate, who locked him away in Newgate. I had Finch dead to rights, so I agreed to prosecute. I wasn’t brave, not really—there wasn’t much chance he’d get off, so no danger for me.” He gave us his thin smile. “Finch made up a story in the dock about having a daughter, and convinced the jury to feel sorry for him. He was transported instead of hanged, but that didn’t matter. I’d never have to see him again.”
He took another sip of bitter, everything well in his world.
“Did you know Mr. Finch had returned to London?” I asked.
Leeds started, but the start had come a second too late. “Did he? I thought you said he died in the Antipodes.”
“No, he died here in London. A week and more ago. His daughter—he did indeed have a daughter—is quite distressed.”
“Oh.” Leeds flushed once more as these new ideas went through his head. “I did not realize the daughter was a truth.”
“She is. A by-blow, but he had affection for her. Brought her gifts.”
“I see.” Leeds stared at his glass but did not reach for it.
“Was the patroller named Spendlove?” I asked. “The one who nicked Finch, I mean.”
Leeds brightened. “Oh, yes. Courageous of him. Felled the man right enough. I hear Mr. Spendlove is a Runner now. Good on him.”
Grenville and I exchanged a glance. I decided to say nothing more at present, and we finished our beer, Grenville switching the topic to mundane pleasantries.
We returned Mr. Leeds to the bank’s side door. The drink and the end of my questions seemed to restore his confidence.
“I do hope we have not landed you in trouble, Mr. Leeds,” Grenville said as they shook hands in parting.
“I am allowed a brief time for lunch or tea,” Leeds assured us, bowing. “I thank you for the sustenance. And if you or the captain ever need guidance in investing, I do know more than most what goes on in the bowels of the bank.” He tapped the side of his nose, gave us another nod, and skimmed inside, leaving Grenville and I alone.
“Well, well,” Grenville said as he led us along the busy street. Brewster, who’d followed at a discreet distance, joined us. “What do you make of that?”
“What’d he tell you?” Brewster rumbled.
Grenville’s coachman, Jackson, had pulled the landau into the street called Lothbury, in front of St. Margaret’s church. With Christopher Wren before me and John Soane behind me, I was surrounded by architectural genius in this narrow space.
“What I found interesting,” Grenville mused once we’d settled in the coach, Brewster joining us to hear our tale, “was that Leeds told his story without hesitation, until you, Lacey, tripped him by asking the name of his sick friend. Then he fumbled about until he said the friend was deceased. So why was he in St. Giles the day Finch waylaid him? Leeds knew Finch had returned to the country, though he pretended he did not. I would swear he did not know Finch was dead, however. But very much relieved.”
“All of which could be explained by his terror of Finch,” I said, though I did not believe that was the entirety of it. “Fear that Finch would retaliate for Leeds getting him convicted. Relief he was dead.”
“The friend was a fabrication,” Brewster said with certainty. “An excuse for him being in St. Giles. Finchie and Blackmore would never waylay a man for a few coins and a cheap cotton wiper. But this Leeds bloke had to say something in the witness box, didn’t he?”
“Mr. Leeds was keen to point out he knew much about the Bank of England’s doings,” Grenville said. “Perhaps he truly does know quite a lot, and perhaps Finch, being the extortionist and blackmailer he was, tried to get Leeds to give him money. Leeds meets Finch and Blackmore in St. Giles, won’t pay up—or can’t—and they rough him up. When Leeds spies a patroller, he seizes his chance and cries out. Pomeroy told you that Spendlove made his career chasing Finch, so he was probably following anyway. Spendlove is only too happy to drag Finch in, and bullied Leeds into prosecuting. Leeds is rid of Finch, Spendlove pockets a hefty reward, and everyone is happy.”
I nodded, but I still wasn’t satisfied. “Finch needed money, upon his return—perhaps he hoped Leeds might be a source of it …”
I trailed off. Finch had been tapping his family for funds to pay Steadman. Would he not also want to put his hands on Leeds, who could possibly get him gold, or silver, or whatever Leeds could give him, straight from the Bank of England?
Leeds knew his way in and out of the bank’s back doors, and he had obviously been to St. Giles before. Not to see his friend, as he’d claimed—but for what? To visit a lady? To conduct shady deals of some sort?
I imagined Leeds facing Finch in the alley in St. Giles, Finch growling at him to deliver the goods, and Leeds plunging a small knife into his side.
“Hmm,” I said. “I am trying to fit Leeds for the crime, but why on earth would Leeds agree to meet Finch in St. Giles the day Finch died? Why would Leeds not ignore the summons, lock himself in his house, flee town?”
“Finch had something on him,” Brewster suggested.
“Ah,” Grenville said. “That would explain it nicely. Finch knew something that could make Leeds’s life hell—perhaps the fact that Leeds uses his inside knowledge to help others make money, as he offered to us? If Finch threatened to expose him, wouldn’t Leeds rush to him and shut him up?”
“Very possibly.” I tightened my hand on my walking stick. “Let us discover more about Mr. Leeds.”
“We might have found our murderer,” Grenville said. “Poor chap.”
I returned home, already composing letters in my head. I’d ask Sir Montague Harris to find out all he could about Mr. Leeds—perhaps there had been suspicion of him before, which would make him more susceptible to Finch’s blackmailing.
I would also write to my friend Mr. Molodzinski, a man of business and very astute, who had rooms not far from Leeds’ lodgings. Molodzinski had his finger on the pulse of whatever went on in the City, plus I liked him and was happy of an excuse to communicate with him again.
I would also ask Sir Montague if he could have someone look up the records for the house in St. Giles that Brewster found so handy to put Finch into. I had reasoned Denis might own it—he had various properties around London—but I was beginning to suspect he did not.
By the time I reached South Audley Street, it was late afternoon, and the house was thronged with callers. Flowers filled the front hall and the drawing room, which was full of people.
They were calling on Gabriella. The flowers were from young men, as it was customary to send a small bouquet to a lady with whom a young man had danced and from whom he’d received permission to call. I’d noticed Gabriella’s suitors dancing with several young ladies, and I imagined the gentlemen’s pockets were a little emptier today.
I managed to slip past the throng and retreat to my bedchamber. I was dusty and hot from a journey across London, hardly fit to be seen in polite company. I sat down at the small desk in my room and wrote my letters.
When I emerged an hour or so later, washed and changed, everything had gone quiet, to my relief.
I went downstairs to leave the letters for Barnstable to post. The flowers remained in the lower hall, wilting a little now, but the house was deathly silent.
I deposited the letters on the tray in the foyer and caught sight of a downstairs maid busily tidying up the drawing room.
“Mary?” I asked her, entering that chamber. “Where is everyone?”
Mary ceased dusting, came to attention, and gave me a curtsy, eyes downcast. “Her ladyship has gone out. Miss Lacey is in the library.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I beg your pardon for disturbing
you.”
I turned away to make for the stairs, but Mary cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, sir.”
I swung back, noticing that Mary was more subdued than usual. Donata’s servants were always deferential, but not dejected.
“What is it?” Worry stirred. “Is Gabriella ill?”
“No, sir. Not my place, sir, but I thought you should know. Her ladyship left in a rare temper. And I believe Miss Lacey is crying.”
What the devil? “Bloody hell,” I muttered as dire foreboding washed over me. “Thank you, Mary. I appreciate your candor.”
For answer, she curtsied again, clearly wishing me elsewhere.
I left the room and climbed the flight of stairs to the library.
I was the only person who used the library—though Donata enjoyed reading, she’d have her maid or Barnstable fetch her a tome to peruse in the comfort of her boudoir. I preferred to lounge among the books, with their scents of leather and aging paper, feeling as though the ancients and moderns who’d scribbled away at these texts were watching over me. Donata had some valuable books here as well, kept carefully in glass cases.
Gabriella liked the library too, and during her visits, I often found her browsing the shelves or sitting on the window seat, her feet drawn up, while she lost herself in a novel or book of poetry.
She reposed on the window seat today, a shawl about her shoulders, but no book lay in her lap. She’d half turned to look out the window behind her, and tears glistened on her cheeks.
“Gabriella,” I said in alarm as I closed the door and quickly went to her. She rose to greet me, but I motioned her down again. “What is it?”
Gabriella sank to the edge of the window seat. She pulled the shawl about her more closely and studied the carpet at her feet. “Lady Breckenridge is very put out with me.”
“Why?” I sat next to her on the wide cushion, the gold velvet warm from the afternoon sun. “Did you explain to her that you did not wish to marry?”
I allowed myself a touch of relief. After viewing the prisoners in the hulks and hearing about the horror that was Lord Mercer, my daughter’s and Donata’s clashing wishes were a storm in a teacup.
“Never mind,” I said gently. “I’ll speak to her.”
Gabriella gazed at me in anguish, her brown eyes glimmering. “You do not understand. She is angry because Mr. Garfield proposed to me, and I refused.”
My relief expanded profoundly. “You refused him? Thank God for that.” I let out a heartfelt sigh. “You might have made my wife unhappy, dear Gabriella, but you have pleased me enormously.”
I thought to make her smile, but she did not. Her sorrow remained, with a touch of … fear?
Gabriella pleated nervous folds in her shawl. “Please let me finish. When Lady Breckenridge demanded to know why I was so foolish as to refuse a fine young man like Mr. Garfield, I had to tell her. She would not listen until I explained.” Gabriella closed her eyes, and tears slid from beneath her lashes. “I am sorry, Father. I am already spoken for.”
Chapter 27
I went very still. Gabriella opened her eyes, and her expression broke my heart.
“Spoken for,” I repeated, my voice quiet. “By whom? Mr. Marsden?” He was another of Gabriella’s suitors, a much more deferential young man than Garfield. I wasn’t pleased with him either, but I could put up with him.
“No,” Gabriella said quickly. “None of them. It is a young man in France. He is in Lyon now.”
I rose abruptly. “Lyon?” This was a matter of an entirely different calibre. “Your uncle never mentioned this. Or your … The major.” I still could not bring myself to call Major Auberge Gabriella’s father. He might have raised her, but she was mine.
“Papa and Uncle Quentin know nothing of this,” Gabriella said. “We have kept it secret.”
“What about your mother?”
Gabriella shook her head. “No one knows.”
I paced, the rows of Dante and Petrarch, Copernicus and Huygens frowning down at me.
“Bloody hell, no wonder you were so resistant to Donata’s schemes. How far has it gone? Are you actually married? Have you …?”
I trailed off, unable to say it. I shuddered to think of my daughter in any man’s arms, shied forcibly from it.
Gabriella gave me a puzzled look, as though to say Have I what?
The innocence of her bewilderment relieved me. “You are not married, then?” I asked.
“No, no.” The shy words eased her tears. “We decided to tell no one until after the Season was over and I was back in France. I believe my mama and papa will be more amenable if I have proved I could not find a wealthy husband in London. Emile is not well off yet, but he will inherit a little money in a few years.”
I remembered a conversation I’d had with Major Auberge when he and Carlotta had brought Gabriella to London. Carlotta had come to complete our divorce, and Major Auberge explained that they’d brought Gabriella with them because a young man had been sniffing around her at home.
“Is this the same gentleman?” I asked, “that the major disapproved of before?”
Gabriella nodded. “Emile has always been kind to me. We have been friends for a very long time.”
“He has proposed to you?”
“Not formally. He will wait and approach Papa when I return. Emile is in Lyon working for his family—we hope to wed next summer.” The look she turned to me was guilt-stricken and contrite, but also determined. I’d caught sight of that stubbornness on my own face.
I opened my mouth to curse some more, but shut it abruptly and sat next to her.
“Do you love him?” I made myself ask.
“Yes.”
I had left my walking stick leaning against the window seat when I’d leapt up to pace, and now I fixed my eyes on its goose-head handle. The stick had been a gift from Donata when I’d lost the previous one.
Asking Gabriella if she were certain would be pointless. If my daughter had not let the lavish comfort of Donata’s house, the extravagance of the balls and soirees, and the obvious interest of her highborn suitors turn her head, then she was indeed loyal to Emile.
“Why did you say nothing to me?” I asked. “Why go through with the Season?”
More quiet tears. “I didn’t have the heart to disappoint you.”
Dear God. She’d not confessed that she didn’t want to anger Donata, or upset her parents, or annoy Lady Aline. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint me.
My heart burned. “I suppose if young Garfield hadn’t pressed his suit, you’d have remained quiet?”
Gabriella nodded. “I did not believe any of the gentlemen would truly propose. I am not one of them, as much as Lady Breckenridge tries to make me be.”
But they were healthy young men, and Gabriella was the exotic flower in their midst. Of course they’d been smitten.
“Disappointed, I am not,” I said firmly. “Truth to tell, I hoped you’d turn down all the young jackanapes. I hoped they wouldn’t have the gall to propose without consulting me. Garfield deserves to be turned away—the cheek of him. But I wish you had confided in me. It would have made things easier.”
“It was wrong of me, I know. But I did not quite know what to do.”
Gabriella meant she’d decided on her course and was resolute that no one would dissuade her. She’d inherited her strong will from me. At the same time, she was a gentle soul who did not wish to hurt anyone. A troubling combination.
“I do not approve of the gentlemen Donata picked out for you,” I said. “But I can’t wholeheartedly approve of Emile either, a young man who encourages you to make a secret promise to him. I want to meet him.”
Gabriella brightened. “Would you? I would like that. I believe you would get on well.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said severely. “Please tell me you will do nothing unwise—no elopement, no running off to become his lover, no true engagement until we meet him and decide whether he is good enough for you.”
“Of course not.” Gabriella’s eyes glowed with hope. “We planned to approach my papa when I returned home. I am not so rash as to elope.”
I had been plenty rash enough to elope, which was why Gabriella’s mother now lived in France with another man. “And Emile had better not be already married with two children, and stringing you along.”
Gabriella’s smile blossomed. “Oh, no. I have known Emile since we were children. He tells me everything.”
I would reserve judgment. I had once caused the arrest of a man who had been married to several different women at the same time. The gentleman had seen no harm in it and protested his guiltlessness to the end.
I let out a long breath. “Well you have neatly stymied us all, haven’t you?” I asked. “Thus proving you are indeed my daughter. You made Donata angry enough to storm out of the house, when she knows I do not want her rushing about by herself.”
“Mr. Brewster followed her,” Gabriella said. “I saw him. He is very protective.”
He was. I thought about how Brewster had beaten down the violent Finch without hesitation as he sprang to protect his wife. That thought knocked into another, and another.
“I will speak to Donata,” I said, as I had when I’d first entered, though the conversation would be very different now. “But you must write to the major, tonight, and explain things to him.”
Gabriella paled. “I know I should, but I fear for Emile.”
“You mean the major might charge to Lyon and slam him against a wall?” I felt a moment’s camaraderie with the man who’d stolen my wife. “Well he might, and I would not blame him. But if Emile is worthy of you, he will weather it.”
Picturing Major Auberge explaining to Emile how he felt about him wooing Gabriella gave me some satisfaction. I’d hated Auberge for a long time, but I knew he loved Gabriella as I did.
“Thank you, Father,” Gabriella said. She still looked guilt-stricken and sorrowful, but more hopeful. The determination, however, hadn’t wavered.
Murder in St. Giles Page 23
