A Body in Berkeley Square (27 page)

I sank down on one of the chairs, in too much
pain now to stand.

Lady Breckenridge stopped before me and
smoothed a strand of my always unruly hair. "Are you well?"

"No, I am disgusted," I said. "The bloody
thing must be here. I know Brandon. He would have hidden it. He
would not have risked Pomeroy finding it."

Lady Breckenridge's cool fingers felt good.
She rested herself on my lap and continued to stroke my hair.

I did not want to push her away. My head
ached from speculating, and her presence, her touch, soothed me. I
closed my eyes.

"I am not a man of complex thought," I said.
"In the army I solved problems as they came to me. I did not sit in
a chair and contemplate them."

"You were a soldier," she said, her voice
low. "Not a general."

"What the generals decided after sitting back
and contemplating was often foolhardy. They could not solve
problems that were right in front of them." I opened my eyes.
"Neither can I, it seems."

"You are working your way through lies."

"I know. The only person who has not lied to
me is you."

Lady Breckenridge smiled a little, her red
lips curving. "Are you certain?"

"You never hide your opinions."

"That is true. I was brought up to be demure,
which I was until I married my foul husband. Then I realized that a
demure and timid lady won nothing. But I did lie to you,
Gabriel."

"About what?"

She reddened. "About why I helped Louisa
Brandon the night of the murder. I told you I did it because she
was your friend. That was not entirely true."

I fixed my full attention on her. "No?"

"I helped her because I wanted to observe
her. To learn what sort of woman had won your adoration."

I studied Lady Breckenridge in silence. Her
eyes held a defiant light, but behind that defiance lay--worry?

"It is not adoration," I said.

"Is it not?"

She challenged me. She wanted truth. I was
not certain what truths I could give her, because I was confused
about truth these days myself.

One thing I knew was that she was warm, and
that her touch delighted me in ways I had not known for a long
time.

"No," I answered. "It is not. Admiration,
certainly. And friendship."

"And love," Lady Breckenridge said.

"Love." I touched her face. "But not love
that is covetous. I would see Louisa happy, but I do not need to
possess her."

She looked unconvinced. "Gentlemen often
express admiration, when in truth they mean desire."

"Your husband might have done so. My desire
lies along another path." I drew my finger across her lips.

Her eyes still held caution. "I can never be
this paragon you admire. No matter how I try."

"I do not want you to be. I want you to be
witty and acerbic and blow smoke in my face when I am stupid and
soothe me when I am hurting. You have proved excellent at all these
things."

She dropped her gaze. "From the beginning I
have made a complete cake of myself for you. That you do not
despise me amazes me."

I regarded her in surprise. Lady Breckenridge
had always seemed a woman who did exactly as she pleased for
reasons of her own.

"You make me long to be tender," I said.

She looked up at me. In that moment, when her
eyes met mine, I knew that I'd never in my life met a woman like
her.

"We do not have time to be tender," she
reminded me. "We must find your colonel's letter so that you may
save him from the noose."

Thus, Colonel Brandon, even imprisoned,
reached out to make my life difficult.

"Yes," I said. "But damned if I know how I
will do it."

Lady Breckenridge slid from my lap and
pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. "You will find a way,
Gabriel."

I gave her an ironic look. "I am pleased at
your faith in me."

She took my hand and helped me to my feet.
"If Colonel Brandon did not leave the letter in a book, then we
must look elsewhere."

"He did," I said with conviction. "I know he
did."

I thought glumly that in truth, a servant
must have found it, had not realized what it was, and destroyed
it.

As I studied the room again, I noted that the
paneling in one corner did not fit quite right. Closer scrutiny
showed that a door had been cut into it, probably one that opened
into the servants' passage behind the walls. No attempt had been
made to completely hide the door, but the paneling had been
fashioned to make it unobtrusive. Few would pay attention to it
until the servant came through with tea or to lay the fire or
whatever his or her particular duty might be.

I ran my fingers down the edges of the
paneling until I found a piece of gilded molding that moved. The
designer had cleverly used the molding to conceal the door's latch.
I pressed the latch, and the door swung smoothly toward me.

I looked inside at a narrow passage with
plastered walls lit with sconces. A footman, hurrying through on
some errand or other, saw me and started, his eyes going wide.

"I beg your pardon," I said to him.

The footman regained his composure, changing
from human being to well-trained servant in the space of a moment.
"Sir?" he said coolly. "May I assist you?"

"Yes." I motioned with my stick. "Where does
this passage lead?"

"To the ballroom, sir. And in the other
direction, to the stairs to the kitchens."

"Do all the rooms have access to this
passage?"

"Yes, sir." I heard the
Of course they
do,
in his voice.

"May I look?"

His brows climbed. "It is no place for a
gentleman, sir. Or a lady."

"Even so. Please show us."

The footman gave me the same look a put-upon
colonel had when wives new to the regiment requested a tour of the
army camp. Lady Breckenridge and I did not belong there, the look
said. This passage was the servants' territory, and ladies and
gentlemen were not welcome. However, the footman gave me a nod and
led us inside.

The passage was dim and stuffy, but I could
see that it would be handy for moving about the house quickly, not
to mention unseen. The walls were plastered but not painted, and
the doors were rough wood, very unlike their elegantly disguised
counterparts on the other side.

The doors also looked alike. "How do you know
which leads where?" I asked. "For instance, which would lead to the
anteroom in which Mr. Turner was killed?"

The footman led us to the door second from
the end on the left. "This one, sir."

"But how do you know?"

He gave me his look of faint disdain. "We
know."

"You are thinking the murderer came this
way," Lady Breckenridge said. "How would
he
have known which
door it was?"

"He might live in the house himself," I said.
"Or, someone in the house told him, or he scouted beforehand." I
turned to the footman, who remained stiffly disapproving. "Did you
or any of the other servants observe anyone back here who should
not have been the night of Mr. Turner's murder? Or anything unusual
at all?"

"I did not, sir. But I will ask Mr. Hawes. He
is butler, sir."

"One more question. Did you or any maid or
footman remove a paper from any of the books in these rooms? Say
the day after the murder? While they were cleaning? Perhaps they
found something sticking from a book and pulled it out?"

"I clean these rooms myself, sir. And I did
not find anything unusual among the books. But I will ask Mr.
Hawes, sir."

Hawes seemed to be the font of all wisdom.
"Please do," I said. "We will wait in the anteroom."

The footman opened the door, and I ushered
Lady Breckenridge through to the anteroom.

I examined the passage side of the door
before the footman closed it but could find nothing to
differentiate it from the other doors in the servants' corridor.
Inside the anteroom, the door fitted well into the scarlet and gold
wall, although the line was visible if one knew where to look for
it. The door was not a secret.

The footman disappeared, obviously relieved
to see us back on our side of the walls. I studied the gilded
molding and red silk above the wainscoting. The scheme was bright
and a bit overwhelming, as I remembered, but I saw nothing to
indicate that someone could have marked the door from this
side--nothing shoved through the crack or any such thing.

"So the murderer entered through the
servants' door," Lady Breckenridge said. "Which is why no one
noticed him enter from the ballroom. Guests roamed in and out of
the ballroom and all over the downstairs rooms all night. I do not
think anyone would notice who was in or out at a given time. Even
so, the murder must have been very quick."

"It likely was." I left my examination of the
door and laid my walking stick across the writing table. "The
murderer has made up his mind to kill Turner. He makes the
appointment, leaves the ballroom, and enters the servants' passage
through one of the other rooms. He comes here, meets Turner. He has
Colonel Brandon's knife, which Brandon must have left about
somewhere, or he'd previously stolen it from Brandon's pocket." I
turned to Lady Breckenridge. "He approached Turner. Turner knew
him--or her--and did not fear. There was plenty of noise in the
ballroom, the orchestra, the dancing, the conversation. Before
Turner knows what is happening, the killer steps to him, possibly
covers Turner's mouth so he won't cry out, and drives the blade
home."

I saw it in my mind. Without realizing what I
was doing, I covered Lady Breckenridge's mouth with my hand and
pressed my fist against her chest, right where the killer would
have plunged the knife.

It would have been fast and quiet. Turner
would have grunted if he'd made any noise at all, then fallen limp.
The killer had caught him, lowered him into the chair, and arranged
him to look as though he were drunk or asleep. The murderer then
left the way he'd come.

Lady Breckenridge's eyes glittered above my
hand. "Very exact," she said, stepping away.

I came back to the present. "I beg your
pardon."

"Not at all. It was an apt demonstration. You
do know, do you not, that you are only succeeding in making the
case against Colonel Brandon tighter? He was in a room with a door
to the passage. He admitted it. Basil Stokes saw him."

"And likewise, Brandon saw Basil Stokes.
Stokes said they exchanged a few words, then Brandon made for the
back of the house. Why Brandon says he saw no one back there, I
don't know, unless Stokes is lying about the entire encounter.
Stokes claims he went back to the ballroom and then heard Mrs.
Harper scream, but we have only his word on it."

"But why should Basil Stokes kill Henry
Turner? Mr. Stokes is rather irritating, but he hardly seems the
sort to kill in such a clandestine fashion. He'd challenge Turner
to a fight if he truly wanted to harm him. Loudly."

"I agree with you, in part," I said. "But
Stokes, by his own admission, owed Turner a huge debt. And he
expressed relief that Turner was dead and that he no longer had to
pay it."

Lady Breckenridge shivered. "It is all so
horrible."

"Murder is horrible. Death while fighting is
one thing--a deliberate and underhanded murder is another."

"It is good of you to help your colonel," she
said. "No matter what I think of your motives."

"I need to," I said. "Not simply because of
Louisa. Colonel Brandon aided me when I needed it most. He took me,
a callow young man with no future, and made me into something. No
matter what else is between us, he gave me that."

Lady Breckenridge did not answer. She did not
need to. She slid her arms around my waist and rested her head on
my chest.

At this inauspicious moment, the butler, the
all-knowing Hawes, entered the room.

Lady Breckenridge stepped away from me,
looking in no way embarrassed.

Hawes, like a good butler, pretended not to
notice. "Sir," he said. "My lady." He turned to me, his butler
hauteur in place. "John told me that you wish to know if anything
unusual was seen in the passage the night of the ball, or any
person not meant to be there."

I nodded. "That would be helpful."

"I am afraid none of the staff saw any person
untoward at the time in question. I have inquired. Most of the
footmen were circulating champagne in the ballroom or cleaning up
the supper rooms. The passages would have been empty for a time, so
someone might slip through without us noticing. However, one of the
maids did mention that she noticed a scrap of lace caught near one
of the doors."

I came alert. "A scrap of lace?"

"Yes, sir. As might come from a lady's
gown."

"Near which door?"

"The door to this room, sir. I will show
you."

He glided across the room and unlatched the
panel that led to the servants' corridor. He pointed to a small
nail that stuck out a little from the wooden doorframe. "Just
there, sir. The silly girl left it there, and when she reported it
to me, I ordered her to return and take it away. But she claimed
that when she returned, the lace had gone. Possibly another footman
saw it and disposed of it."

Or possibly, I thought, excitement rising,
the killer had taken it from the door and put it into Turner's
pocket, where Mrs. Harper found it when she examined the dead man's
coat.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Hawes
asked.

I distinctly felt his wish for us to leave.
We were intruding on his and his staff's routine.

"That will be all, thank you. You have been
quite helpful."

Hawes bowed again. "Her ladyship has retired
to bed. She asked me to bid you good afternoon when you take your
leave."

I inclined my head. "Tell her ladyship that
we wish her good health."