I came alert, and the melancholia slid away. "Did he? Good lord, why did you not tell me at once? Did he go to Sussex?"
Pomeroy's brows climbed. "Sussex? No-- "
"Oxfordshire then?"
"No, sir."
My heart pumped. "Where then?"
"I would tell you if you'll give me half a minute, Captain. He went to Hertfordshire."
I stopped. "Hertfordshire? Why?"
"Now I don't know, Captain. I'm only watching him to find out where he goes. Not why. That's your lookout."
"Well, what is he doing there?"
"I don't know." Pomeroy frowned. "I pulled my men off him, soon as he went somewhere harmless. None of your lordships live in Hertfordshire. And I need my men in Islington. Someone's gent killed his wife--at least so his wife's sister says, but no one's found the wife's body. Not the first time the gent's murdered his wife, so this sister says. Not the same wife twice, you understand, but wife one and wife two. Either he is very clever, or the sister's for Bedlam."
I could get nothing more helpful from him. I left Bow Street and returned to my rooms.
The cure for melancholia, or at least a method of staving it off awhile, was action. I acted. I wrote to John Spencer, asking to meet with him. I wrote to Eggleston in Oxfordshire, also requesting a meeting.
I then wrote Grenville to apprise him of what I had discovered. I had not spoken to him in some days, and he had not sent for me in his imperious way. I wondered what the devil he was doing, and at the same time was a bit relieved that I had not seen him and would not have to explain my current agitation.
I heard nothing from Louisa, and I sent no inquiry to her. If Lydia had wanted to see me, or if she had grown worse, Louisa would have informed me. Likewise I heard nothing from Brandon, from which I concluded Louisa had not yet returned to him or even sent word.
John Spencer replied by the next post that he'd see me. We met the next day in the same tavern we had before. He confirmed that his brother had gone to Hertfordshire to visit an old school friend, then I discussed Colonel Spinnet and my speculations with him.
He admitted that when he'd read Colonel Spinnet's diaries, he'd found references to Breckenridge wanting promotion, but he'd drawn no conclusion but that Breckenridge had been incompetent and annoying.
I asked Spencer if he would show me what he had found, and after regarding me sourly for a time, he took me to the rooms in Piccadilly he shared with his brother and fished out Spinnet's diaries.
I flipped through them eagerly. Breckenridge, Spinnet had written early in 1812, that ass, yearns to be a major. He is the sort who likes to strut about in braid and lace, and knows nothing of commanding or warfare. Old Nappy will not go away because Breckenridge waves his balls about. I have told Westin to not, for God's sake--for all our sake's--give him major. Such a thing would make a mockery of all other majors in the Army.
No doubt Breckenridge had not been pleased to hear this news.
It all fit now. Breckenridge and Eggleston had contrived between them to murder Colonel Spinnet and remove him from Breckenridge's road to promotion. Lydia's husband had known, and they had somehow persuaded him to take the blame when the deed came to light.
I thanked John Spencer, took a hackney back to Covent Garden market. As I emerged onto Russel Street, two large men closed on either side of me. Startled from my thoughts, I quickened my pace, but they kept with me. They steered me toward a finely appointed carriage, and when I turned, a third man had closed behind me.
I raged, but they had me penned in. I could not flee without a fight. James Denis had gotten wiser. I wondered if he would call in his favor today.
I would know soon enough. The three bullies more or less loaded me into the carriage, and there I found Denis waiting.
* * * * *
Chapter Nineteen
His gloved hands rested on his elegant cane and he looked me over with cold eyes.
"Well," I said. "I am here. What do you want?"
"As blunt as ever. To answer you just as bluntly, nothing. Not yet."
The footmen closed the door, shutting me in the elegant, satin-lined box with the man I fervently despised. He was not very old--barely thirty if that, but he had already acquired more power than most dukes knew or understood.
"I have come to do you another good turn," Denis went on.
"Can I stop you?"
Sometimes, he smiled at my sallies, but today, his face remained mirthless.
He dipped his kid-gloved fingers inside his coat and pulled out two papers, each folded and sealed.
"I have information here that could be of great help to you, Captain. I offer to share it."
I eyed the crisp, folded sheets tucked between his gloved fingers. "Why should you believe I will be interested?"
His expression did not change. "I know."
I shifted uneasily. "For what price? I already agreed to what you asked for Mrs. Brandon."
"The same price. You aid me when I need it."
"You are keeping tally of favors?" I asked dryly. "Favors in the debit column versus favors in the credit?"
His brow lifted the slightest bit. "Exactly, Captain. You are perceptive. I told you before that I wanted to tame you, but that is not quite true. What I want is to own you utterly."
I regarded him in silence. Outside, the daily life of Russel Street went on, the wagoners moving through to Covent Garden market, vendors crying their wares, street girls teasing passing gentlemen.
For years, I had given my life to the King's army, and I had given myself and my loyalty to a man I had admired more than any other. That man had at the last spit upon me, and the King's army had not done much better.
My freedom from both had been bitter. A man who could not give himself to another was useless and alone. But I at least wanted to choose who received my loyalty. James Denis did not deserve it.
"You need have no interest in me," I tried. "I care nothing for your business and what you get up to."
His fingers twitched on his cane. "That is not what I perceive. You dislike me and what I do and I foresee a time when you will try to stand against me. I cannot afford that." He paused. "You should take my precautions as a compliment. You at present are my most formidable enemy."
I snorted. "I am a half-crippled man with no fortune. I can hardly be a threat to you."
"I disagree. But we digress." He held out the first paper. "This is the name of the house in which Lord Richard Eggleston has hidden himself."
I scowled at the stiff edge of the paper hovering before me. "That is no secret. Eggleston went to his country house in Oxfordshire."
"He did not. You took the evasive word of his butler as fact. He is not in Oxfordshire. He has gone to visit a paramour. I have written here the name of the paramour and the house in which they now dwell in lovers' bliss."
Denis's eyes were ice cold. He was handing me an answer, an important one. I had but to take it and know--and be obligated further to this man I reviled.
I think I hated him more at that moment than I had ever before.
In a swift movement, I jerked the paper from his fingers and broke the seal.
I had once remarked that Grenville had wasted half a sheet of expensive paper on a short letter. Denis had wasted one on one line--it listed a name, the name of a house, and the name of the county in which the house resided. Hertfordshire.
I stared at the words, dumbfounded. "Dear God."
Kenneth Spencer had gone there. And Pomeroy had sent no one to follow him, believing him to be traveling nowhere important. John Spencer had said his brother had gone to visit a school friend.
My pulse quickened. I looked from the paper to Denis, who looked, very slightly, satisfied.
I did not ask whether the information was accurate. I knew it was. Denis could uncover things with far more efficiency than any Bow Street Runner or exploring officer during the war.
He was holding out the second sheet of paper. I barely saw it, my
head was so filled with implications of this new knowledge. One thing was certain--I had to go to Hertfordshire. Now.
"This," Denis continued, "concerns another matter entirely. It contains the direction of a lady called Collette Auberge."
I stared at him blankly. The name meant nothing to me.
He went on, "She used to call herself Carlotta Lacey."
I stilled. Thoughts of Eggleston slid away like water from my hand.
This was the real information he offered me. The whereabouts of the woman who had been my wife--might still be my wife. One fact crystallized, hardening into facets I could touch, could cut myself on.
She still lived.
All I had to do was take that paper, open it, and discover where she was.
"You bastard," I whispered.
He said nothing.
My hand trembled. I clenched it. I looked up at him, met his cold eyes.
"You are misinformed," I said, forcing my voice to be light. "I no longer require that information."
His eyes flickered the tiniest bit. In surprise? I felt a small amount of satisfaction. Not what you expected, was it?
Denis wanted me to crawl, even with greatest reluctance, but I would not.
He sat still for a second longer. Then he gave a faint shrug and slid the unbroken paper back into his pocket. "I will keep it safe for you," he said. "When you require it, you have only to ask."
Of course. If nothing else, he had learned how important the information was to me. He had a card he could hold until needed.
A few months ago, I had formed a half-crazed plan, borne of frustrated anger, to kill him. Even if I hanged for it. Later, I had realized how foolish I had been. Now, I wondered.
Perhaps he was right. I was dangerous. I was someone he did not control, might never control, and he did not like that.
He returned both hands to his cane. "Then good day to you, Captain," he said.
As though his minions had heard his cue, the door opened, and I was ushered out.
*** *** ***
My emotions churned and tumbled as I returned home, packed my few belongings, and sent a note to Grenville. We must away at once. Lacey.
I knew the cryptic lines would catch his attention more speedily than an explanatory letter. It was uncharitable of me, but I took pleasure in summoning him the way he often peremptorily summoned me.
As I packed my shaving gear, Marianne wandered in. "Leaving again, Lacey?"
I looked up, ready with an irritated quip, but I saw her smile. She was goading me. "Yes," I answered shortly.
She wandered to my writing table. "An interesting journey? With Mr. Grenville, perhaps?"
"Not far. And yes, with Grenville."
I supposed she'd come to filch paper or ink, but under my nose, she opened my writing box, extracted a letter, and began to read.
The letter was one of Grenville's. I recognized the seal, a stylized "G" in red wax. I contemplated snatching it from her, then decided there was no harm. Grenville and I did not discuss dark secrets after all. I continued to pack, doing my best to ignore her.
"He is quite fond of you," she remarked after a time.
"Grenville? I would hardly say that."
"Perhaps he fancies you."
I looked up. I expected to find her smiling at me, teasing me with barbs to hurt, but she was still studying the letter. Her eyes were tight. "No," I said. "He does not." I had seen enough of the world to know when a man preferred the company of another man to ladies, and Grenville had showed no sign of it.
"I see." She folded the letter.
"Do not toy with him, Marianne," I said. "He does not deserve that."
She dropped the paper back into the box. "Do you know, Lacey, if you were not so proud, you could get much from him. From what I hear, he has vast wealth, houses all over England, business interests in France and America. He could at least set you up in a house with servants to wait on you."
I fastened the leathers on my kit and hoisted it to my shoulder. "Yes, but I am that proud. So I stay here." At the door, I looked back at her. "You may have my bread and coffee in the mornings. I have already paid Mrs. Beltan for them."
A ghost of her usual smile lit her face. "How kind you are," she said in a mocking tone. "But do not worry about me, Lacey. I can take care of myself."
With this lofty statement, she brushed past me and made her way back upstairs.
I ate a half-loaf in Mrs. Beltan's bake shop, then went to the end of Grimpen Lane to await Grenville, reasoning he'd either send his carriage or Bartholomew with a message.
I found Colonel Brandon there instead. He was striding toward me down Russel Street, his own carriage halted among the press of wagons and carts. As usual these days, he exuded anger. He emanated violence in his every step, as though he just stopped himself drawing a weapon on me.
"Where is she?" he began once he was within earshot. "I know you have her, devil take you." His ice blue eyes were bloodshot, his mouth white. "Where have you hidden my wife?"
His voice climbed. Passersby stopped to stare.
I kept my own voice low. "I have hidden her nowhere. She does as she pleases."
His hands balled to fists, stretching his expensive gloves. "A man called Allandale paid me a visit. He thought it would interest me that one Captain Lacey had summoned my wife from a boardinghouse in Greenwich like a servant." He glared at me in fury.
Damn Allandale. I remembered giving the order for Leland to find Louisa and bring her back. Allandale must still have been in the house then. I imagined him gleefully relating the tale to Brandon. "Louisa?" I asked, incredulous. "Do you believe she would scuttle to me just because I called?"
"What I believe is that you knew where my wife was all along and you fetched her back to London at your convenience."
I lost my temper. "I asked her to look after a friend who is ill."
"But you knew. You knew." He stepped close to me. "I will kill you for this."
"At least you are no longer pretending you want reconciliation," I snarled.
"That was for Louisa's sake. You have forfeited any reconciliation with me."
"Thank God for that."
His eyes blazed. "I will have you up before a magistrate. If you are not hanged for the abduction and rape of my wife, I will shoot you myself."
If I'd had a pistol in my possession, I would have already potted him with it. "You idiot, do you realize that any move you make against me will ruin her? If you disgrace her, I will certainly find a way to kill you."
"Do not use her reputation to hide behind. Adultery is a foul crime and I will sink you for it."
I laughed humorlessly. "Lower than you have already sunk me? Ruining my life was not already good enough for you?"
His face and neck went brick red. "You took her from me. You must pay for that."
"You drove her away, you stupid fool. How much did they pay you to testify against Westin? What did they promise in exchange?"
His breathed hoarsely. "Why the hell can you not attend to your own affairs?"
We had collected quite a gathering now. Street girls stopped, hands on hips, to watch us. Mrs. Beltan had left her bakery. Mrs. Carfax and her companion slid by at the edge of the crowd.
"Because you drag me into yours," I answered him. "She is furious with you over Colonel Westin. Why the devil were Breckenridge's lies more important to you than your wife's good opinion?"
"You understand nothing."
"No, I do not. Were she mine, I would move the sun and the moon to please her. You seem to think you can do any idiotic thing you like and she will simply understand. No matter how slow-witted you are."
"She is my wife. Mine!"
"And that gives you leave to hurt her?" I was nearly dancing in rage now myself. "Know this. Whatever you believe, I care greatly for her honor. I would do nothing, ever, to disgrace her, even if that means not kicking you as I'd like to. Her honor is more precious to me than anything else in the world. Do yo
u understand me?"
"So," he said, his voice shaking. "You choose between her honor and mine."
"Exactly, sir. And hers will ever win."
"Then for God's sake, why not tell me where she is?"
I looked him in the eye. "Because she asked me not to."
He stared at me for a long moment, then his lips pulled back in a fearsome snarl. "Damn you-- "
He got no further, because Grenville's carriage and its fine matched grays on that moment stopped beside us.
Bartholomew hopped down from his perch, opened the door, and extended the stairs. Grenville leaned forward, his eyes alight. "Well, I am here."
"Where are you going?" Brandon barked. He blocked my way to the carriage. "Are you going to her?"
I gave him an irritated look. "Did you hear anything I've just said to you? No. I am leaving London on other business."
But he had a mad light in his eyes. "But you will go to her sometime. I will not let you out of my sight until you do."
"Oh for God's sake, get out of my way. I am in a hurry."
Bartholomew straightened from unfastening the stairs. At any moment he'd offer his cheerful assistance to remove Brandon from my path, just as he had with Denis's thug.
I could not let that happen. I suddenly remembered Louisa's words--He was a great man, full of fire and able to inspire that fire in others.
And he had been. I still saw it in him. His heart had been broken, partly by me, partly by Louisa, and he was bewildered and hurt. In any event, I could not let him simply be moved aside on the street by the towering Bartholomew.
"Get into the coach," I said.
Brandon blinked at me. "Pardon?"
"I said, get into the coach. If you must dog my footsteps, we may as well make room for you."
Grenville's well-bred brows rose, but he voiced no objection. He must have sensed that even touching the tension between Brandon and me might shatter the very air.
Brandon fixed his gaze on me for a long, furious moment, then he flung himself up and into the waiting carriage.
*** *** ***
Along the road north through Hatfield, I told Grenville--and Brandon--about Denis's information and Pomeroy's report that Kenneth Spencer had headed to Hertfordshire, the same place Eggleston had gone to ground with his lover.