The Gentleman's Walking Stick (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries)
The Gentleman's Walking Stick (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries)
Midpoint
The Gentleman's Walking Stick
by Ashley Gardner
Two Short Stories of the
Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries
The Gentleman's Walking Stick
"The Gentleman's Walking Stick"
Copyright 2000, 2011 by Jennifer Ashley (Ashley Gardner)
"The Disappearance of Miss Sarah Oswald"
Copyright 2000, 2011 by Jennifer Ashley (Ashley Gardner)
First printed in Over My Dead Body! Mystery Magazine (Summer 2000)
All rights reserved.
Published 2011 by Jennifer Ashley (Ashley Gardner)
www.gardnermysteries.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
* * * * *
The Gentleman's Walking Stick
On a rainy morning in 1817, I visited Bond Street to purchase a bauble for my lady.
I gazed at trays of glittering jewels in the shop I entered and dreamed of adorning Lady Breckenridge with the best of them. I knew, however, that my captain's half-pay would allow me only the simplest of trinkets. The proprietor knew it too and abandoned me for the more prosperous-looking patrons who walked in behind me.
"Is it Captain Lacey?" a male voice rang out. "Jove, it is, as I live and breathe."
I turned to see a man of thirty-odd, his light brown hair damp with rain, favoring me with a familiar and hearty grin. In spite of the weather, his clothing was impeccable, from his pantaloons and polished Hessians to a fashionably tied cravat. An equally well-dressed older gentleman I didn't know stood behind him with a matron and a young woman with red-gold hair.
"Summerville," I said in surprise and pleasure.
I hadn't seen George Summerville since the Peninsular War. Summerville had been in a heavy cavalry regiment, a big man full of bonhomie, who'd made friends wherever he'd gone. I remembered long nights with him that involved much-flowing port but never how those nights had ended. Memories of the terrible headaches in the mornings, on the other hand, lingered. Summerville had been injured at Salamanca, and I'd lost track of him after that.
I advanced and held out my hand, shaking his warmly. "How are you, Lieutenant?"
"Lieutenant no longer. Sold my commission. You?"
"Half-pay." I'd gotten into the Army a roundabout way--volunteered, then obtained the rank of cornet with the help of my mentor. That's how poor gentlemen get to be officers. At Talavera, I'd been promoted from lieutenant to captain. Three years ago, I'd left the Peninsula in a devil's bargain with my aforementioned mentor, and now eked out a living in London.
"Lacey, allow me to introduce m'fiancee, Miss Lydia Wright. And her family. This is Captain Gabriel Lacey, a dashing dragoon of the Thirty-Fifth Light."
I made a bow, and Miss Wright and her parents greeted me politely. Miss Wright's red-blond hair was dressed in a simple knot, and she wore a high-waisted, modest gown and a dark wool spencer against the weather. She looked well turned out, neat, respectable.
There was nothing to object to in the Wrights, but they seemed rather lackluster for Summerville. Already they'd faded into the background while the boisterous Summerville commanded the light. Ever after I was unable to remember what Miss Wright's mother even looked like.
"I say, Lacey, a word in your ear?" Summerville put his hand on my shoulder and began to subtly but firmly turn me from the group. "Do you mind, Miss Wright? Won't be a moment."
Miss Wright seemed not to mind at all. She smiled, curtseyed to her fiancee, and remained within the safe circle of her parents. They turned collectively to examine jewelry the eager proprietor brought forth.
When we reached an empty corner of the shop, Summerville lowered his booming voice to a murmur. "I'm in a bit of a difficulty, Lacey. You see, I've lost something."
He looked worried. I'd never considered Summerville a good soldier, but he'd been excellent at keeping up the spirits of the rest of us. No night could be so dismal that Summerville could not warm it with his laughter and jests. Summerville worried was an unusual sight.
"Something valuable?" I asked when he hesitated.
"No, not exactly. But . . ." Summerville paused again, as though debating what to tell me. "I've heard you've become all the crack at ferreting out things. Mr. Grenville himself boasts of your cleverness."
"Does he?" I felt a bite of irritation. Lucius Grenville, the most famous dandy in England and now my friend, was apt to sing my praises a little too loudly, thus building expectations I could never hope to meet.
"He does, my old friend," Summerville said. "The thing is, I've mislaid my walking stick."
I leaned on my own walking stick, a gift from my lady. He looked so anxious that I grew curious in spite of myself. "One of great importance to you?" Perhaps Miss Wright had given it to him.
"No, no. The bloody thing isn't worth much on its own. It does have a bit of gold on the head, but the main thing is, my name is engraved on it." He darted a glance at his companions, a very proper miss and her very proper parents, absorbed in studying the jewelry. "Look here, Lacey, I must find that walking stick. I might have left it in a dashed awkward place--a place I wouldn't want it coming to certain ears I'd visited, if you take my meaning."
I was beginning to understand. "Summerville, the reveler," I said. "You have not changed in that respect?"
"Those days are behind me, I assure you, except for a bit of an outing last night."
"Sowing the last of your wild oats?" I suggested.
He patted my shoulder, happy I'd caught on. "Exactly. I'd be ever so grateful if you could lay your hands on it for me. Today, I mean."
My irritation returned. "Today?"
"I know it much to ask, but the Wrights have my time well spoken for. I will not have a moment to scour London for it myself, and sooner or later one of them will ask what became of it. My peccadilloes are the past, but I had to go and lose that blasted stick. I would hate someone to try to touch me for money because of it. You understand?"
He looked so miserable that I stemmed my annoyance. Summerville's concern about blackmail was not farfetched. I put Mr. Wright as a well-off gentleman of the middle class, possibly a City man who had banks doing what he told them to do. Miss Wright was a catch, especially for a gentleman like Summerville, who had family connections but not much money.
In these desperate times, a lady of the demimonde might indeed threaten exposure to a gentleman due to come into means. Any whiff of scandal would make Mr. and Mrs. Wright whisk their debutante daughter far out of Summerville's reach.
"I understand," I said. "Tell me where you left it, and I'll fetch it for you." I'd find the stick and make Summerville promise to stay home from now on.
"That's dashed good of you," Summerville said, his good-natured smile returning. " Only . . . there are any number of places it might be."
"Any number? What the devil did you get up to last night, Summerville?"
He flushed. "Several things, as I recall." Quickly he told me the worrisome places he'd visited, and I noted them in my memory.
"The devil's own luck you found me today," I said.
&nbs
p; "Not really. I called in at your rooms earlier, and your man told me where you'd be."
My valet had once been Grenville's footman, as pleased as his former master about my ability to find the un-findable. I scowled. "I will make the inquiries. For old times' sake."
"God bless you, Lacey." Summerville beamed like sudden sunshine.
He returned to his party with considerable cheer. Summerville chose a diamond bracelet for his blushing fiancee, then the foursome said their farewells and left the shop.
The proprietor returned to me less hopefully.
"I'll have this." I pointed to a slim gold chain that was a little longer than a bracelet. A tiny bell with a golden clapper dangled from it.
"Ah." The proprietor smiled at me, his interest awakened. "A most interesting choice, sir. A most interesting choice."
*** *** ***
I decided to visit the last name on Summerville's list first.
I found the small house in Bishop's Lane, near Oxford Street, without mishap. The lane was so narrow that my hired hackney had to stop at the top of the street and let me down. I hobbled the rest of the way on my own in the rain, the tapping of my walking stick echoing from the close walls.
Number 20 was a tall, narrow house, with Doric columns flanking the front door and Greek pediments over the windows. A young footman opened the door and gazed haughtily down at me. I handed the impudent lad my card, upon which I'd scribbled that I'd come on behalf of Mr. Summerville.
The footman departed, closing the door in my face. He returned a short time after that, let me into the house, and commanded me to follow him.
He led me up a polished staircase to a back sitting room that overlooked a narrow garden. A cheerful fire crackled on the hearth, and low chairs with cushions invited lounging. Books that looked well used lay about on tables, and candles cut the gloom. It was the room of one who enjoyed comfort but not ostentation.
The lady in question entered. I stilled, finding myself enchanted.
Mrs. Chambers was a small woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Her turned-up nose gave her a young look, but the settled curves of her body put her in her early thirties.
She was not beautiful, but she was arresting, as comfortable and lovely as her private sitting room. Without saying a word, she made a gentleman want to linger here, made him long to sink back into her sofa's cushions and have her look at him with those eyes. I could only applaud Summerville's choice.
"Captain Lacey?" Mrs. Chambers held my card in her hand and polite inquiry in her tone.
I came straight to the point. "Mrs. Chambers, Mr. Summerville believes he left an article here last evening, and has sent me as an errand boy to fetch it."
Her smile bathed me in charm, and I decided that Summerville was a fool. He was choosing to marry the rather colorless Miss Wright instead of living out his days in comfort with this woman.
I knew why, of course. If Summerville wanted money and a career, Mrs. Chambers could give him neither. He would need the Wrights and their influence. Only the very rich or very poor could make a match in the demimonde without worry.
"A nasty day for such an errand," Mrs. Chambers said. "Please sit down, Captain. Would you like coffee? Or perhaps something against the damp?"
I took the armchair she indicated, noting that the cushions were, indeed, soft, and stretched my aching leg toward the fire. "I will not intrude upon you long. I will simply fetch the stick, if you have it, and go."
She sat in a smaller chair next to mine. I wondered whether I sat in Summerville's place, and she in the more ladylike chair next to it was the usual arrangement. If so, that arrangement was a cozy one.
"His walking stick?" she asked. "With the gold head?"
I nodded.
"I thought as much," she said. "He is always leaving it about."
I hoped she did have it. I would have liked nothing better than to sit in this friendly room and chat with the pleasant Mrs. Chambers instead of continuing my search in the cold rain. I'd remain here and return to Summerville later this afternoon.
"Why did he not simply call for it himself?" Mrs. Chambers asked. "Equally, he could have sent a note, rather than a friend loyal enough to soak himself in the attempt."
I returned a grateful smile and touched the top of my own walking stick. "I believe Mr. Summerville has pressing business, today. I was glad to oblige." That is, I had been regretting my hasty decision to help, but I was now much happier about it.
"You mean he is wooing the Wright girl," Mrs. Chambers said, her look turning wry. "Or rather, Miss Wright's father. You needn't worry, Captain. I know all about it."
She regarded me in amusement, and I felt sudden impatience with Summerville. "I beg your pardon. I did not mean to embarrass you."
"I am not embarrassed in the least. I admit that I am not fond of his decision to marry, but I understand. Mr. Summerville hasn't many other avenues open to him."
"You are courageous," I said quietly.
Pain flashed in her eyes before her smile reappeared. Summerville leaving her to marry hurt her, I saw, but she had decided to put a brave face on it. I admired her for that.
"The walking stick?" I prompted.
"I'm afraid I do not remember him having it yesterday, though I will ask my footman."
Mrs. Chambers rose and rang a silver bell that rested on a tambour desk, and the lanky footman who'd admitted me entered the room.
"John," she said. "Did Mr. Summerville leave his walking stick behind last evening?"
John's face remained as expressionless as a blank wall. "I couldn't say, ma'am. Henry was on the door last night."
"I see. Thank you, John."
John bowed with trained stiffness and withdrew.
"Henry has gone to visit his family," Mrs. Chambers said once John had closed the door. "He'll not return for a few days. However, I will make inquiries of the other staff and have a good root around myself. If the walking stick turns up, I'll send it on to Mr. Summerville." She paused. "Or perhaps it would be more discreet if I sent it to you."
"That would be best," I answered, rising.
I took my card back from her and scribbled my direction on it: Above Beltan's Bake Shop, Grimpen Lane, Covent Garden.
"Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Chambers," I said, handing her the card. "Your home is lovely."
Again, the flash of pain. "That is kind of you. Perhaps you would like to remain and take coffee?" She tried to look as though she'd love nothing better than for me to stay, but I saw in her eyes that she offered from simple politeness.
"I regret that I have another engagement." I did regret it. Sharply.
"Ah, well. I am pleased to have met you, Captain."
I confessed myself equally pleased, bowed, and took my leave.
*** *** ***
The rain worsened as morning became afternoon. I pulled my greatcoat around me and directed the hackney across London and down the river toward St. Katherine's Dock. Descending, I limped along the narrow lanes, conscious of scurrying feet in the shadows, of predators stalking unexpected prey.
I entered the lodgings Summerville had indicated, and a sharper contrast to Mrs. Chambers's comfortable house there was not. The stench of cabbage permeated the stairwell, and paint peeled from the walls. I climbed painfully to the second floor and knocked on the door at the top of the stairs.
A child cried fretfully within, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a window being banged open.
The door was unlocked. I shoved myself inside in time to see a thin woman climbing over the windowsill. I crossed the room swiftly and grabbed her around the waist.
She screeched. "Lemme go!"
"You'll kill yourself, you little fool." I shoved her from me and slammed the casement closed.
She went for the door. Again, I caught her. She didn't weigh much, but she was strong.
"Stop!" I shook her. "I'm not a constable, whatever you may think."
She peered at me from behind a fall of y
ellow hair. "No? What are yer then?"
"I've come from Mr. Summerville." I glanced at the children on the floor. One was about four; the other, still crawling. Both of them had light brown hair the same shade as Summerville's.
"Oh. You mean our Dobbin."
I set her on her feet. "You are Nellie?"
"I am. Sorry I tried to fight yer. I though maybe you was coming for me." Nellie regarded me warily. "What'ya want, then?"
"Mr. Summ-- er, Dobbin, believes he might have left behind his walking stick. A black stick with a gold head."
Interest lit her eyes. "Gold, was it?"
I knew then that the stick wasn't here. This girl would have sold it the moment she'd found it, and no wonder. The disappointment on her face when she shook her head was genuine. "Never saw it."
"He did not have it with him when he visited yesterday?"
"Naw. Mind you, 'e weren't 'ere long, and it were late."
"Ah, well. I apologize for disturbing you."
I took in the room before I went. The chimney smoked, the children sat sullenly, and Nellie looked as though she hadn't had a good meal in a fortnight. I fished inside my pocket and took out what few shillings I had to spare.
"Here." I pressed them to her hand. "For your trouble."
I turned to go. Behind me, she chuckled. "Yer a soft touch, ye are, sir."
From the other side of the door came the sound of drunken voices and the tramping of heavy feet. Nellie gasped. "Me 'usband!"
"You say nothing," I said. The situation was awkward, but not insurmountable. "I will speak to him."
The door banged open, and a man who must have weighed twenty stone filled the doorway. He was red faced, greasy haired, and cup-shot. Two men almost as large as he was crowded in behind him.
"Who the devil--"
Before her husband could say one word more, Nellie flew at me, screeching. "'e's a peach! Come about the money. Run for it!"
"Oh 'is 'e?" Nellie's husband reached for me.