A Body in Berkeley Square

  I stared at Grenville in amazement. His face was red, his gaze uncomfortable.

  Mrs. Bennington's eyes swam with tears. "My head. Grady, I need my draught."

  Grady rushed to the cupboard and pulled out a glass bottle full of dark liquid.

  Lady Breckenridge, who had lifted a silk shawl to admire it, suddenly laughed. "Good heavens, how dramatic we are." She folded the shawl and replaced it on the chair. "We are not on the stage, Mrs. Bennington. Captain Lacey only wishes to know what became of that bit of lace you asked of me."

  "Oh." Mrs. Bennington sat up, looking relieved. "From your ballgown? You ought to have said. I gave it to my husband."

  "Your husband?" I asked. "What on earth for?"

  "Because he asked me to."

  She seemed to think this a fine enough reason. "Did it not occur to you to wonder why?" I asked.

  "Not really."

  "I think you do know why," I said. "I believe that you know more than any of us about this matter."

  She looked bewildered. "How could I?"

  "You play the dupe well, Mrs. Bennington," I said. "But I believe you are not one."

  Mrs. Bennington gazed at me, stunned, then the eyes that bewitched London audiences each night filled with tears.

  "Leave her be, Lacey," Grenville said.

  "I cannot. She is key to this. I want Colonel Brandon released, and I will do what I must to bring it about."

  "Including browbeating a young woman?"

  I stared at him. Grady had accused Grenville of shouting at Mrs. Bennington and throwing his walking stick, but now he bristled at me like a guard dog.

  "Mrs. Bennington," I said, gentling my tone. "Why did your husband ask you to obtain a piece of lace from Lady Breckenridge?"

  "I don't know. It was a game of some sort."

  "A wager?" I supplied.

  Her brow cleared. "Yes, that was it. He wagered that I could not obtain a piece of lace from a highborn lady. Because I am so lowborn, you see."

  "He said that?" Grenville asked, face thunderous. "What the devil made you marry that lout? Do not tell me you could not have the pick of gentlemen on the Continent."

  "He was good to me," Mrs. Bennington said. "I had debts--he paid them. He must be kind to do that."

  Or he'd wanted something. Claire Bennington, absorbed in herself and her life on stage, would not have realized that.

  "Is he kind to you?" I asked.

  "I suppose he is." Mrs. Bennington pressed delicate fingers to her temples. "Really, Captain, my head does ache."

  Grady, her face set, poured a thick liquid into a small glass and pushed it at Mrs. Bennington.

  Lady Breckenridge, still looking interested, sat down amid a pile of velvet gowns. "So you handed over the scrap of lace to your husband. When was that?"

  "Oh, good heavens, I hardly remember." Mrs. Bennington took the draught from Grady and drank it down. She sighed in contentment when she handed the glass back, as though her headache already had started to fade. "Before supper, certainly. My husband escorted Lady Aline to the supper room. He'd told me to obtain the scrap of lace from her, but I'd only had opportunity to speak to Lady Breckenridge. Mr. Bennington was annoyed, I remember, that I had not approached Lady Aline."

  Who was large and strong and could have driven a knife into Turner's heart were she cruel enough to do so.

  "Do you love your husband, Mrs. Bennington?" I asked abruptly.

  Her eyes widened. "Why ask that?"

  "Because he is a murderer," I said. "And I wondered if you would help me or be loyal to him."

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lady Breckenridge looked at me in complete astonishment. "Mr. Bennington?" She grew thoughtful. "Yes, I see."

  Mrs. Bennington lowered her gaze. "I should be loyal. He is my husband."

  Grady broke in fiercely, "She's nothing to do with it. I'll not see her in the dock for this."

  "Nor will I," I said.

  I tried to sound reassuring, but Grady moved between me and her mistress. "She is innocent. She can't help what that fiend of a husband does."

  "I know," I said. "I imagine Mr. Bennington used her from the moment he met her. He knew that as the husband of a celebrated actress, he would be eclipsed by her, and he was correct."

  Grenville did not look terribly surprised by my assessment, but he was not happy.

  Lady Breckenridge's eyes sparkled with interest. She was possibly the only person in the room not charged with emotion.

  "I can work out how he must have done it," she said. "He challenged Mrs. Bennington to obtain a bit of lace from a lady. Which she did--from me. Mr. Bennington goes into the anteroom at some time before supper, opens the door to the servants' passage, and affixes the lace to the nail to mark the door he needed. He does not want to use something of his own or his wife's in case it is found.

  "He makes an appointment to meet Turner in the anteroom at midnight. Just before midnight, he slips out of the ballroom and into one of the sitting rooms along the hall. He waits until the servants' passage is empty, enters it, finds the door he marked, and enters the anteroom, taking the bit of lace in with him. He stabs Mr. Turner, eases him into the chair, and places the lace in the pocket. He leaves Colonel Brandon's knife in the wound and exits through the back passage just before Mrs. Harper enters." She stopped and drew a breath. "Yes, I believe that explains everything neatly."

  "Though not how he obtained Brandon's knife," I said.

  "Nor why Mr. Bennington should want to murder Mr. Turner at all," Lady Breckenridge added, looking only at me.

  "I've made some guesses about that," I said. "Both Turner and Bennington were on the Continent at the same time and both recently returned to London. Perhaps Turner knew things that Bennington did not want others to know. Turner seems to have been good at finding guilty secrets. Perhaps he knew the things that led Mr. Bennington to change his name. " I fixed my gaze on Grady. "Do you know?"

  Grady glanced at her mistress, who kept her gaze fixed on her lap. Grady wet her thin lips and said, "Bennington is a bad sort. But my lady, she was deep in debt--she will wager recklessly. That was not the first time she'd been in deep."

  "You should be more careful," Grenville said to Mrs. Bennington. She flushed but did not look up.

  "Aye, that's what I tell her," Grady said. "One of her creditors, he was threatening her with arrest. And us being in Italy, what would happen if she was taken by foreign police? Then this Mr. Worth, he comes backstage one night and says he'll pay the debts, all of them, free and clear, if only she'll marry him, in name alone."

  "That must have seemed an answer from heaven," I said.

  Mrs. Bennington raised her head. "I was so relieved, I could not refuse him. I saw no reason to refuse him. He said I could do what I pleased, and he would keep me out of trouble with the creditors. Why should I not marry him?"

  "Because he is a blackguard," Grenville said. "Did you not sense that?"

  "But he offered to help me. I wanted to go to London to perform, and he enabled me to do so. He has heaps of money. He was left a grand inheritance."

  "He was," I said. "From a relative in Scotland."

  "Yes," Mrs. Bennington answered.

  "Did your husband know Mr. Turner on the Continent?"

  Mrs. Bennington looked blank. "I have no idea."

  "Aye, he knew him," Grady said, her face grim.

  I started to ask why the devil she hadn't mentioned this on my previous visit, but I remembered that Grady had not been in the room when I'd discussed Turner with Mrs. Bennington. When I'd spoken to Grady, she'd only wanted to talk about Grenville's anger at her mistress.

  "You saw him?" I asked Grady. "In Italy?"

  "Yes," Grady said. "Mr. Turner came to visit Mr. Bennington when we were in Milan. Talked to him like he wasn't a stranger, like they'd met before, but Mr. Bennington wasn't best pleased to see him. Then Mr. Turner went away, and I forgot all about it."

  "A magist
rate would be interested in knowing this," I said. "Why have you said nothing?"

  "I didn't think it mattered, and I didn't want my lady bothered by Bow Street. That's the truth. That Runner, the one who came to the ball, was a great bully. And my lady had nothing to do with Turner getting himself killed. Besides, if her husband's convicted of murder, my lady loses his money. What's to become of her then?"

  Grady looked anguished, but Mrs. Bennington seemed more resigned. "I have my money from the stage," she said. "And I have been poor before."

  "You will not be again," Grenville said. "I will see to it."

  Both Lady Breckenridge and I looked at him in surprise. Grenville's face was flushed. "I will take care of you, Claire," he said. "I offered to before, remember?"

  Mrs. Bennington turned to him, eyes wide. "You frightened me. You said I must divorce my husband. I did not know what to think."

  Neither did I. Grenville and Mrs. Bennington looked at each other, and the pair of them seemed to forget that the rest of us were in the room.

  "When you are free of Bennington, I will take care of you," Grenville said. "I told you this, and I promise it. I should have done so long ago."

  I exchanged a glance with Lady Breckenridge. She raised her brows, and I shook my head slightly, to indicate that I too did not know what to make of the conversation.

  Lady Breckenridge broke in. "Mr. Turner is dead now. So who can know what he wanted with Bennington? To blackmail him, presumably, over the fact that Bennington was not Mr. Bennington. Did Bennington want to leave Italy because of Turner, or because others also had got wind of his deception? And why did it matter so much?"

  "I plan to ask him," I said. "Where is Mr. Bennington at present?"

  Mrs. Bennington shrugged. "I never notice where he goes."

  "He likes the Majestic Hotel in Piccadilly," Grady said. "He doesn't have a club like a proper gentleman."

  I took up my walking stick, my usual restlessness getting the better of me. "If I can get a confession out of Bennington and have him arrested, that will solve many problems."

  Lady Breckenridge looked alarmed. "He is a murderer, Gabriel. He killed one man who knew his secrets; why would he not kill you?"

  "Because I have one advantage that Turner did not--a very large and loud former sergeant who is now a Bow Street Runner."

  "I will come with you," Grenville said. "If Bennington is guilty, I want to put my hands on him." He looked angry and dangerous.

  "Then shall we adjourn to Piccadilly?" Lady Breckenridge asked. "In my carriage. I will accompany you, gentlemen."

  "No, you will not," I said immediately. "We will return you home, and I will go from there."

  She gave me a scornful look. "I am not a fainting flower, Captain. I do not intend to enter a gentlemen's hotel, but I certainly will not sit home and wait for you to remember to call on me and tell me what happened, if you bother to at all."

  Grenville seemed uninterested in our disagreement. "Let us away, Lacey. I am ready to arrest a murderer."

  "I want Pomeroy," I said.

  "Very well. We'll fetch him." He swept out of the room without taking leave of Mrs. Bennington. I bowed to Mrs. Bennington, but she gazed after Grenville with a mixed expression of fear and wonder.

  Lady Breckenridge and I descended the stairs together. Grenville paced in the foyer, waiting for us. I held him back as Lady Breckenridge went out the door to the carriage.

  "Do you love her?" I asked in a low voice. "Mrs. Bennington?"

  "What? Of course I do." Grenville's scowl softened suddenly. "Forgive me, Lacey, I ought to have told you. But it caught me a resounding blow when I found out, and I have not yet recovered." He lowered his voice and said, with a little smile, "Hadn't you guessed? Claire is my daughter."

  *** *** ***

  We found Mr. Bennington in the sitting room of the Majestic Hotel in Piccadilly. The hotel itself was not far from the house where Henry Turner had kept his rooms.

  Mr. Bennington sat in an armchair reading the Times, his immaculate suit attesting to the exactness of his valet. He crossed his legs and held the newspaper in carefully manicured hands.

  He glanced up when I walked into the room alone but betrayed no surprise. "I will be with you in a moment, Captain," he said. "I am reading a fascinating story about a gentleman's journey through the wilds of Prussia. I must ask, if he complains of not having the comforts of London in the middle of Germany, why did he leave England in the first place?"

  "I could not say," I said.

  He hummed a little tune in his throat as he read on, then he finally laid the paper aside. "Sit down, Captain. We might as well be civilized. You have found me out, have you? I wondered how long it would take you. People talk about your cleverness, but I believe you are not as clever as your reputation paints you."

  I did take a seat, but one out of his reach. We were the only ones in the sitting room, and the windows were muffled with drapes against the night. The room was quiet and genteel, with a gilded clock ticking on the mantelpiece and decanters of wine and brandy resting on tables for the guests' convenience.

  Grenville and Pomeroy waited in the next room for me to call them in. I wished I could have had time to speak to Grenville a bit more after he made his astounding statement about Mrs. Bennington, but we'd had no moments of privacy. His revelation, however, explained some of his odd behavior--he was a worried father, not a jealous lover.

  "In this instance, I was distracted by Colonel Brandon," I said to Bennington. "The knife pointed too much to him, and he did not help by being stubbornly vague with both me and the magistrate."

  "He is a stubborn gentleman," Bennington said with a smile. "I was pleased, quite pleased, actually, to discover that I was not the only person that horrible young man tried to blackmail. I did Colonel Brandon a favor."

  "By landing him in Newgate?" I asked, my temper rising.

  "That was unfortunate, I agree. But I saved him from whatever dire revelation with which Turner threatened him."

  "You do not know what that dire revelation was?"

  "No, nor did I care. My dear Lacey, I cared only that Turner knew that I should not have enjoyed my glorious inheritance over the years."

  "No?" I asked, speculations coming together. "An inheritance from a fourth cousin, probably one you would rarely, if ever, meet, especially when he lived in Scotland and you stayed on the Continent. His family and friends might not have seen the man's heir for decades, if they'd ever seen him at all. Which means they might not realize that you weren't his fourth cousin after all."

  "Excellent, Captain." Bennington applauded me softly. "A man can steal an inheritance, you know, if he is very clever and very lucky. And I was both. Mr. Worth, the true heir, had moved to the German states as a lad of ten and hadn't returned to England in forty years. He'd never met his so-wealthy distant cousin from Scotland. I convinced the Scottish solicitors and Worth's London man of business that I was Mr. Worth--made easier because I knew that my friend Worth was dead. Fell down a mountain in Bavaria, poor fellow. He was all alone, with no one to know but me."

  "Then you stayed in Italy," I finished for him, "far from people who'd known the true Mr. Worth--or knew you well, for that matter. But then, Henry Turner discovered your secret."

  Bennington watched me with an amused expression. "Ah, Captain, I'd grown used to my comfortable means. I could do whatever I pleased, and living on the Continent suited me fine. Why the devil should I lose it all because Henry Turner could not mind his own business?"

  "How did he know that you were not the true Mr. Worth?" I asked.

  "My bad luck. Mr. Turner apparently had met someone who'd known Worth in Germany, and then he met me. I'd never kept it entirely secret that I'd changed my name when I'd married Claire--a blind is better when you pretend it is of no importance. But Turner was too shrewd for his own good, and he realized after a time that the George Worth his acquaintance had spoken of and I were entirely different men. I suppose then
Henry decided to dig around and find out what he could about me. He was a careful gambler--was good at doing his research so he'd more likely win. He took me aside and explained this to me one day while I was strolling about Milan for my health, Turner smiling in a rather nasty way. He liked money, so it was quite easy to press a bank draft into his hand and make him leave me alone."

  "But he returned?"

  "Oh, yes. I made a mistake believing that giving him money would see the end of it. I'd never dealt with a blackmailer before, you see, and I thought I had been so careful to cover my tracks."

  "But Turner persisted."

  "Yes, he was quite obnoxious. He told me he planned to settle on the Continent, and in fact was going to stay with a friend for a time in Paris. But he'd return to Milan and suggested that we would meet again. I could not have that. By this time, my wife was famous enough that the London theatres were clamoring to have her. I had no wish to return to England, but I reasoned that we could go while Turner was in Paris. I thought, you see, that if it proved too difficult and too expensive for Turner to pursue me, I'd be rid of the fellow. He'd been so sincere in his declaration that he'd live on the Continent for good."

  "But Turner came to London."

  Bennington grimaced. "Yes, to my misfortune. I'd thought myself safe at last, and then he turns up on my doorstep, smiling and demanding more money. I knew that if he told anyone my secret, I was finished."

  "So you killed him."

  "I had no choice. I feared to call him out, because if I did, he'd likely spread the tale of why we had the appointment, and second . . ." He smiled. "Henry Turner was young and robust, and I am not as steady of hand as I once was. He'd have potted me good."

  "You would have died with honor," I said.

  He laughed. "Dear me, I have no honor. Honor is for cavalry captains. If I had honor, I'd not have pushed my friend Mr. Worth down the mountain after I learned he'd just come in to a large inheritance. His face was completely smashed, and there we were, in a foreign country, no one there knowing which of us was which. The old me was buried, and a new George Worth wrote to the solicitors saying he was moving on to Italy and to send the funds there. I knew it would be a bit risky pretending to be someone else, but then I met Claire." His look turned beatific. "I thought all the gods were smiling on me."