Murder in St. Giles

  Robert let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

  We did not stay long. The surgeon’s wife, who was caring for Robert, soon shooed us out.

  “Poor fellow,” Donata said as we joined Grenville in our landau and made for London. “I dislike him, but he did not deserve that.”

  “I feel bad that I twitted him about his waistcoat now,” Grenville said. “Such a petty thing.”

  “But it truly was ugly, Mr. Grenville,” Gabriella pointed out.

  We laughed, but shakily. Robert would mend, and most would put the wreck down to an accident and the brothers’ recklessness.

  Chill bit me. Would Stanton try again? And where the devil was he? I decided I would find out whether he’d gone to Somerset in truth and exactly what he was up to.

  When we arrived home, Donata wrote letters explaining why she and Gabriella had not turned up at the social engagements of the night before, but said adamantly that we must appear tonight.

  Thus invoking one of our very loud domestic disputes.

  “Shall we let my be-damned cousin ruin Gabriella’s chances?” Donata demanded of me as we stood alone in her boudoir, the other servants having prudently withdrawn. “Or shall we show him he cannot cow us?”

  “What is to stop him from trying to use you or Gabriella to coerce me into telling him where Peter is?” I returned. “Or him from threatening you to keep quiet about his attempt to kill Robert? It is too dangerous. You and Gabriella will remain home until Stanton answers for his deeds. Remember what one of your dear friends did to you over the Carlton House affair.”

  “That was different,” Donata said. “I had no idea he was such a villain. With Stanton, I am well prepared.”

  “Until I find out exactly where the man is and how to keep him the hell away from you, you cannot possibly rush about London, especially with my daughter. When will the linchpin on your landau break?”

  “I hope that Hagen and the men inside my mews are incorruptible,” Donata said, eyes flashing. “They despised my late husband and all his family. Hagen keeps a sharp eye on all my rigs.”

  “Perhaps, but an attack might be something subtle, like pushing you in front of a coach when you alight at the opera. Or as blatant as shooting you on the street. Stanton apparently has the money to hire men to do bad deeds for him.”

  “Mr. Brewster will be on hand, will he not?” Donata asked. “He doesn’t let you out of his sight.”

  “Brewster works for Mr. Denis, not me.” My voice rose. “And not you.”

  “Brewster is an honorable man. I doubt he’d stand aside and let someone shoot me. I believe Mr. Denis would be most displeased if you were upset.”

  “Do not joke about this, Donata,” I said fiercely. “Getting my daughter married off to a weedy young man is not as important as keeping her safe and well and as far from your husband’s despicable family as possible.”

  “And will you hide her away again as soon as there is any whiff of danger?” Donata snapped. “That will be all the time, if so. It is not fair to Gabriella to keep her from having a marriage, children, and a happy life because of Breckenridge’s horrible cousins.”

  “You have decided for her, have you? What if she does not wish to marry these imbecilic boys you and Lady Aline have chosen, giving her no say in the matter—or me either.”

  Donata flushed, but her jaw tightened. “They are not imbecilic boys. They are intelligent and accomplished young men who have money and position and will become influential in time. You haven’t bothered to talk at length to any of them, so how would you know what they are like? You can trust that I will not pair your daughter with a simpleton. She will be happy with whomever she chooses.”

  “You can foretell the future? Like the crone in Parson’s Point who used to terrify everyone in the village? How the devil do you know what will and will not make Gabriella happy? She scarce knows herself. I want her to be near me, yes, but not if she is forced to marry an insipid Englishman who pays more attention to his horses than to her. If she’s happier rusticating in France with the family she’s known her entire life, I will let her remain there.”

  Donata’s face changed from white to red to white again as I made this speech.

  “First, I will thank you not to compare me to a crone,” she said, her voice calm with fury. “Second, of course Gabriella does not know what will make her happy. Young women do not at that age. As I told you, I fancied myself madly in love with a handsome gentleman who turned out to be the worst sort of rakehell. Gabriella will never be in that danger. But if you shut her away this Season, these young men will find other ladies who are eager to marry, and there go her chances. She does not have much time.”

  “And the fact that you made disastrous choices does not mean you can right the wrong with Gabriella,” I roared. “Do not shovel her into a marriage to soothe your own conscience.”

  The scarlet returned to Donata’s cheeks with a vengeance. “I see, my favor to you is only to make up for my own stupidity and unhappiness? I care nothing for Gabriella, but only for myself? I am pleased you have enlightened me.”

  “I did not mean that, of course.” Donata had the irritating skill of turning my words around on me. “You have been very good to her, but I question why you wish to endanger her to rush her into a marriage. Can it not wait a week?”

  Donata lifted her chin. “Gabriel, I can forgive your ridiculous remarks because you have no idea how difficult it is to be a woman. If Gabriella is left on the shelf, either here or in France, she will be derided and shamed, pitied by kindly people and despised by cruel ones. The consensus will be that it was only to be expected, as Gabriella’s father was a destitute army captain put on half pay for arguing with his commander. They will bring up what a wastrel your father was and speculate that the apple does not fall far from the tree. And Gabriella’s ruined chances will have an effect on Anne’s.”

  I knew that every word she said was true. I’d told Charlotte Finch much the same, that a woman needed a protector, be he father, brother, or husband.

  At the same time, I knew my determined wife would argue rings around me until she got her way.

  “Damnation!” I shouted. “I am not asking you to put her into a convent, I am asking you to stay home from the theatre and bloody soirees until I can break every bone in Stanton’s body. She is my daughter, and I will not let her be paraded about against my wishes. And you are my wife. Tonight, you will not go out.”

  Donata’s brows climbed, and her voice could have frozen a raging river. “I see. It has come to this, has it?”

  “It has. I do not understand why you are being so stubborn about it.”

  “Because I am a broken woman dispirited by her first marriage,” she said, her voice continuing to hold vast chill. “And I must prove that I am happy in my second to cease wagging tongues. But if my husband commands that I remain in the house, then I must do so.”

  I wanted to shake her, but because I would never hurt a woman, least of all one I loved, I balled my hands and made her a stiff bow.

  “Your husband does command it. Because he knows his wife is being an obstinate mule, because she hates to lose an argument.”

  “She does,” Donata acknowledged. “Especially when she knows she is right. She will not back down. Perhaps her husband regrets marrying her?”

  “Never,” I said in a ringing voice.

  I knew that if I stayed, I’d say something unconscionably stupid and lose all I’d gained, so I turned my back and left her.

  I slammed the door so hard I expected the wood to splinter, but this was a well-made house, and the door took the blow well.

  Donata decided not to speak to me for the rest of the afternoon and evening, but Gabriella told me in a whisper that she was happy to stay in. She was distressed about Donata’s cousin for his own sake, and not ready to face the chattering ton.

  Gabriella and I dined together, which was a fine thing. Donata did not deign to come out of her chamber.
>
  “She only worries for me,” Gabriella said, defending her. “If I were an ordinary English girl, she would be correct. But me, I am not so worried for my chances.”

  Gabriella had heard our argument, of course. The entire household had. Gabriella was the only one who pretended not to.

  I ought to have prodded Gabriella as to why she didn’t fear spinsterhood, but at the moment, I was only happy we were together, and so I made myself enjoy the meal.

  Donata and I would make it up. We always did.

  I had already sent a letter to Sir Montague Harris in Whitechapel about my suspicions as to Robert St. John’s accident, but I visited him the next morning as well.

  When he received me, Sir Montague had disquieting news of his own.

  “I have not heard from Mr. Quimby in days,” he said. “Though he promised to send me a letter every afternoon. I wrote to the chief constable in Kent, and he said he has not seen Mr. Quimby at all, nor did he ever reach the hulks at Sheppey.”

  Chapter 20

  Never reached them?” I gazed at Sir Montague in bafflement, and he returned the look, his usual good humor absent.

  I pictured Lamont Quimby, his neat appearance and diligent and logical inquiries. He was skilled at his job but not large and strong like Pomeroy. “Perhaps he decided to pursue a question and did not want to alert those he investigated.”

  I spoke the words with an optimism I did not feel. Finch, a brute of a man, had been murdered. Pierce Egan, a well-known and popular figure, had been waylaid and beaten. What would this killer do to Quimby?

  “I fear he’s run afoul of the villain called Captain Steadman,” Sir Montague said. “We suspect he assists in prisoner escapes, though none have proved it.”

  “Quimby mentioned him,” I said. Not by name, but this must be the same merchant captain Quimby had spoken of. Such a man would not want a Runner in his midst, and might take desperate measures to keep his business going and his neck from the noose.

  Sir Montague’s expression told me he shared my concern. “I would rush to the end of Kent myself, but it is difficult for me to travel these days, and too many duties keep me here. Likewise I would send patrollers to discover things for me, but I cannot risk alerting magistrates who might be involved in what you tell me Mr. Egan has discovered.”

  “I will go,” I said quickly.

  “No.” Sir Montague gave me a stern look. “This is beyond what you should have your hand in. Finch was a dangerous man, and yet he was cornered and murdered. Also, we do not know if Lord Mercer had anything to do with Finch’s death. Finch had many enemies. Mr. Egan was only roughed up and frightened.”

  “Pierce Egan is beloved of the upper classes for his writings on sport,” I said. “His murder would be thoroughly investigated, shouted from every page of every newspaper. Mercer knows to be cautious with him.”

  “Perhaps. But again, I say, Lord Mercer might have nothing to do with anything but using prisoners for his own ends. I would prefer to deal with him myself.”

  “I will go charging in like a mad bull, you mean.” I gave him a grim smile. “And you wish to use a more delicate approach.”

  “It is a delicate situation. Lord Mercer is a boor, but he is also vastly wealthy and gives much money to maintain Britain’s superiority on the seas and across the Empire. We cannot afford to anger him.”

  Officials like Sir Montague could not afford to, he meant. If Lord Mercer had friends in the right places in government, he could remove Sir Montague from his post. I did not believe Sir Montague clung to his power out of personal glory, but he enjoyed his work, and if he were retired he could not stop men like Mercer abusing their positions.

  “I would like to make certain Mr. Quimby is alive and well,” I said. “I feel responsible for bringing him into the investigation.”

  Sir Montague’s eyes held a knowing glint. “I appreciate your solicitude. I will only sanction this journey if you take another Runner with you—I suggest Mr. Pomeroy. And only to discover where Mr. Quimby is and to bring him home, mind. Not to approach Lord Mercer or Captain Steadman for any reason.”

  Pomeroy would hold me to that, I knew. He did not want to lose his post either.

  “Pomeroy,” I said. “I will ask him. Not Spendlove,” I finished dryly.

  Sir Montague’s large belly moved with his laugh. “Mr. Spendlove would certainly be a cat among the pigeons. He’d arrest half of Kent and be tossed into the Thames for his troubles. And still not understand that he’d angered every powerful man from here to the North Sea. No, I believe you and Pomeroy will do well. As for the other matter …”

  Sir Montague’s smile vanished as he tapped the letter in which I’d told him about Robert’s cabriolet and our suspicion that Stanton had deliberately damaged it.

  “Stanton St. John is also an influential man,” Sir Montague said. “As is the entire St. John family. He has many friends and connections, as well as wealth of his own. I wonder why he is so keen to inherit?”

  “I speculated that he might have money troubles. Lost a packet in a wager he couldn’t pay, or some such.”

  “Your Mr. Grenville would have heard something like that,” Sir Montague said. “Debts of honor are everything in his circles. But it is a thought. I will look into it. Otherwise, unless you can prove the man had something to do with it, and that the pin was deliberately cut …” He spread his hands. “Mr. St. John was in Somerset at the time?”

  “As far as we know,” I said. “I would like to find that out.”

  “Well, we shall have to send men running to the four winds, won’t we? You and Mr. Pomeroy head to Kent. I will inquire whether Stanton St. John has truly gone to Somerset.”

  “I worry for my wife,” I said hesitantly. “She is … headstrong.”

  Sir Montague laughed again. “Her ladyship is exceedingly sure of herself, but from what I have observed, she is sensible and surrounded by many powerful friends. She should be safe enough at home.”

  I wondered. I’d made the decision to search for Quimby on impulse, but I knew Donata would never remain in the house while I was gone. I would either have to take her with me—into more danger—or make certain no one could go near her.

  I thanked Sir Montague, said I’d inform Pomeroy, and left to journey first to Bow Street and then to Mayfair to speak with Denis.

  Pomeroy was pleased to be chosen to look for Quimby. “I knew there was something bad in this case,” he rumbled. “Don’t you worry, Captain, I won’t lose the thread and pursue other matters once we’re there. Now, if I see a wretch stealing something before me own eyes, I’ll have to nick ’im, but otherwise, I’m your man.”

  Mr. Denis, though again displeased with me for seeing him without an appointment, agreed to watch over Donata and Gabriella. They’d not stir a step without at least three of his men, and usually more, guarding them, whether they went to the shops, or the theatre, or a supper ball.

  Brewster, however, would journey to Sheppey with me. Denis did not believe Pomeroy alone could keep me out of trouble.

  Gabriella, when I explained I was to depart for a day or so and begged her to please stay in the house when not with Donata, nodded and said she understood.

  “I am not so featherheaded as to rush about on my own,” she said. “I am no longer the innocent country girl, Father, as you know. And I saw what happened to Lady Breckenridge’s poor cousin Robert.” She shivered. “London is such a dangerous place.”

  She’d learned how dangerous the first year she’d come to me. I’d nearly lost her, and that memory made my throat tighten.

  I pulled Gabriella into my embrace, holding her close and dropping a kiss to her hair. I would never let anyone hurt her again, even if I had to be in thrall to Denis for the rest of my life.

  Donata took the news I was leaving coolly—that is, when I finally persuaded her to open her door to me.

  “As always, you rush into danger while you try to pack me in down and tuck me into a cupboard,” she
said.

  “As always,” I answered.

  She gave me a narrow look. “You are a great idiot, Gabriel, but a noble one. You have softened me up by making me worried about your Mr. Quimby. Go. I will keep my outings to a minimum, and not run about without Mr. Denis’s hulking men. As long as they dress decently, I do not mind.”

  “I am certain Mr. Denis will ensure they are well turned out,” I said in a mild voice.

  Her eyes softened. “I am not so stupid as to believe Stanton will not try to do exactly as you say he might regarding Gabriella or me. I will take great care.” Donata touched my coat, her fingers over my heart. “But you must take care. If you get yourself run through or shot then … Well, I shall be very cross with you.”

  I bent to show her how I appreciated her sentiment, then I took up the small bag Bartholomew had packed for me, and departed with Brewster to meet Pomeroy.

  Grenville had very much wanted to come with us, but he assuaged his disappointment by saying he would continue investigating Stanton, and also Finch’s acquaintances, including Mr. Blackmore. He would also watch over Donata, escorting her and Gabriella to every engagement. He would make tongues wag, he said, he would stick so closely by them.

  He had my gratitude.

  At any other time, I’d have enjoyed the journey. The spring air was soft, the country sky a light blue. Donata had insisted she pay for a private coach for us, which took us into Kent with speed and comfort.

  Brewster rode on top with the coachman, wanting to put as much distance between himself and a Runner as possible. Pomeroy sprawled on the carriage seat opposite me and slept most of the way, his snore filling the small space.

  We followed a road that led south of the marshlands into farm country. The fields were dotted with the strange, conical chimneys of oast houses, buildings in which hops were spread to be dried. It reminded me of Marcus, who wanted to turn the fields of the Lacey estate into barley to sell to the brewers.