A Disappearance in Drury Lane (14 page)

I looked at her in surprise. “You wish to live in Hungerford?”

“Good Lord, no. It’s not for me. It’s for Grenville.”

I understood. “For Marianne, you mean. So she can be close to her son.”

Grenville shrugged, striving to maintain his façade of ennui. “Saves her the bother of traveling all the way from Mayfair. She won’t hear of moving David, so why not have her stay nearby? I could do with a little country place. Good for walks, dogs, hunting. A quiet retreat.”

Grenville wasn’t much for quiet retreats, well I knew. Walking about the country with dogs he could do, but he tired of it quickly.

Before I could remark on his generosity, Gabriella laughed. “You won’t be able to poke fun at the natives then, Mr. Grenville. You’ll be one of them.”

“Too true, my dear.” Looking slightly embarrassed, Grenville resumed his magazine.

“Tell Marianne,” I said to Grenville.

“Hmm?” The magazine lowered. “I’ll have to, won’t I? She’ll notice when I bring her to whatever house I settle on.”

“I mean, tell her now. I imagine it will make our remaining journey that much more comfortable for you.”

Grenville made another grumbling noise. He gave me an impatient look, then heaved an aggrieved sigh, set down his magazine, and called for Matthias to bring him his shoes and coat. He took his time, making a show of straightening and readying himself. The great Grenville could not be seen outside a private room with any sign of dishabille, not even to visit his mistress in the common room of a pub.

Chapter Ten

I had never been to Bath. I’d lived in Norfolk all my young life, with occasional jaunts to London until I attended university at Cambridge, not far from home. The fens, rivers, and flat lands of eastern England had been my bailiwick, until I’d joined Brandon and the army, and traveled the world.

I’d never seen John Wood’s elegant Crescent, or the Pump Rooms, or the Upper and Lower assembly rooms. Bath was all about its Season, its gatherings, about seeing and being seen. The spa town had experienced the height of its social power in the eighteenth century, but its streets still spoke of wealth, elegance, respect, refinement.

At the end of the three-day carriage ride, I longed for an ordinary public house with a large glass of ale and a warm fire, but I was now married to a dowager viscountess, and such comforts would have to wait. The house we’d let, which Donata insisted on calling
small
, stood tall near one end of the Crescent. We made no secret of arriving and moving in—the entire street saw the cart loaded with baggage that pulled up behind our carriage. They’d also have seen the men Donata had hired beforehand carrying new furniture inside the house. When one went to Bath, one made a show of it.

Grenville made his own show in a house a few doors down. He would live there by himself with his valet and staff, with Marianne’s abode a few streets away.

It was odd but pleasant to explore the grand house with Donata and Gabriella, deciding whose room was whose, discovering which sitting nooks would be perfect for Donata’s newspapers or Gabriella’s sewing. My wife and I were moving into this house together, a new undertaking for both of us. I had never settled into a domestic arrangement like this before—my first marriage had been conducted inside army tents, boarding houses, or at best, rooms in another officer’s house. This townhouse, albeit leased, would be wholly for Donata and me.

The front windows of the first three floors looked along the Crescent and across to a green sward, a bit barren now but free of snow. A few hardy people, bundled against the cold, strolled there even now.

A long staircase with a polished balustrade rose through the house on its right side as one entered the front door. The main rooms were on the left side of the house, one in front, one to the rear. A third room on each floor rested in the back. The ground floor held a fashionable drawing room, dining room, and reception room for guests; a more private sitting room, library, and morning room were on the next.

Donata and I took the front bedchamber two floors above the ground floor, Gabriella in the bedroom in the rear, leaving the attics free for a nursery and the staff. All in all, a fine house, decorated throughout in restful cream, yellow, and black.

“A bit fusty,” Donata said, looking about. “Old fashioned. But what can you expect from Bath?”

Her look held approval, however. She was pleased, but long habit made her disdain to show it.

Gabriella was fascinated by the house, but she, like me, was eager to see the sights of the town. Donata conceded that while the staff put the house to rights we would have time to walk about, acclimate ourselves, and do some shopping.

The weather was clear if chilly, the wind a bit brisk. We walked the length of the Crescent and along to the Circus, the three of us nodding to passersby or stopping to greet those Donata knew. Donata introduced Gabriella to one and all, and her acquaintances were eager to admire her. They had no time for me, a mere husband—a young girl about to make her come-out was far more interesting.

“I’m not sure I want bringing out,” Gabriella said privately to me as she and I wandered along, while Donata paused to look into shops. “I’m a child still.”

“Not a child. You’re a young lady already.” My heart squeezed. “I have missed so much of your life.”

Gabriella shook her head. “I was quite a handful when I was younger, I’m sorry to say. My mother constantly told me, in exasperation, that I was just like my papa. I thought she meant my French papa, but now I see she meant you.”

“It was not a compliment, I am afraid.”

Gabriella looked me up and down with her natural frankness. “The more I come to know you, the more I shall take it as one.” She glanced behind us, so she did not see the sudden moisture in my eyes. “Mrs. Lacey looks as though she’ll be quite some time. What’s that large place over there?”

I calculated from having studied the plan of Bath Grenville had leant me that Gabriella had spied the Upper Assembly Rooms. It was a square building just off the Circus, with tall columns supporting a Greek-looking portico and rather plain sash windows. People moved in and out of the building, taking their time, enjoying their afternoon walks. We left the new Mrs. Lacey and her already box-laden maid to their shopping and strolled to it.

“Can we enter?” Gabriella asked when we reached the doors.

I saw no reason why not. We were as respectably dressed as the ladies and gentlemen who walked in and out, and the building seemed open to all. Card play was offered here all days but Sundays, I’d read. I would have to pay a subscription to join the games, but surely there would be no harm if we simply walked in to see the rooms.

Before we ducked out of the morning light to the interior, I spied a man across the road, who was watching us intently. I at first suspected Denis had sent Brewster or one of his other lackeys all the way to Bath to look after me, but on second glance, I decided not. While Denis’s men wore clothes of fine cloth, they always managed to look like the ruffians they were. This man had the bearing of a gentleman—his large greatcoat was well made and the hat he pulled down to his eyes fine. He stared at us without hiding the fact until the Upper Room doors were opened for us, and I quickly ushered Gabriella inside.

Gabriella had noticed nothing amiss. Her eyes were only for the rooms we found ourselves in. We followed others from the foyer to a giant room in the shape of an octagon, with wide, tall windows high on the walls and ornate fireplaces flickering with warmth. Massive, glittering chandeliers seemed to float overhead. The chandeliers were unlit—so much sunlight came pouring through the windows that no candles were needed.

Others were meeting here and parading about, so I escorted Gabriella along the polished floor. Ladies and gentlemen greeted one another and talked among their parties, but I knew no one, and so we passed quietly along. There was an air of perpetual holiday about the place I wasn’t used to—I felt as though I watched from a long way off. I was among them but not part of them.

“It is very lovely,” Gabriella said as we made our second perambulation. “We have nothing like it near our village, though I suppose Paris would have rooms like this.”

“This is a spa town,” I said. “People come from all over England to take the waters, and also to wander about in elegance. If you have an ailment, the Pump Rooms will provide a cure, or so it is claimed.”

“I’m rather healthy,” Gabriella said. “Do you think Mr. Grenville would join us? He could promenade to show off his new suits.”

I did not hide my amusement. “At this early hour?” We’d risen long before dawn and had made Bath before luncheon. “We’ll not see Grenville until six o’clock at least.
If
he deigns to come out on his first night in town.”

“Why does he do such things?” Gabriella asked in genuine curiosity. “Pretend to be so disdainful, I mean? Mr. Grenville is an intelligent gentleman, from what I can see. He speaks to me in fluent French with hardly any accent, and he knows so many things. Yet he hides away and lets people talk about him, while he makes fun of everyone else. He is two different people sometimes.”

I’d long thought the same myself. “He lets the world see only one of his personas—the haughty dandy. The other his great friends alone see. To allow us a glimpse of his true self is a sign of Grenville’s affection for us.”

“I still find it odd. And there is nothing wrong with Miss Simmons. It is silly that I cannot speak to her in public, or even be seen with her.”

“I agree, but such are the rules in England, I am told. I suppose in France, young misses and actresses run about together all the time?”

Gabriella returned my dry tone with a smile. “Well, perhaps not. Young misses are well guarded, especially by fathers like my papa.” She rolled her eyes, then remembered who she spoke to, and flushed.

“I am glad to hear it.” I held out my arm to walk her the other way. “Now, shall we return and join Mrs. Lacey for a repast? I am sure she will tell us what we will do for the rest of the day and into the night.”

Gabriella flashed me another smile, this one of comradeship. I saw in it the little girl who’d clung to my boot as I walked and begged me to lift her onto my shoulders.

I schooled my expression as we strolled together again through the octagonal room and the long foyer and back out into the sunny afternoon. Donata and her maid were making their way toward the Upper Rooms, the landau following slowly.

I lifted my hand in greeting to her, but when traffic cleared a bit, I spied the same gentleman in the greatcoat across the street, still watching us. Determined, I sent Gabriella toward Donata, who had almost reached us, made an abrupt about-face, and strode toward the gentleman.

Alarmed, my follower darted into a side passage. I walked quickly after him, leaving sunshine and my family for a close street of smaller houses. This street emerged into another, much quieter than the main thoroughfares. I heard the man’s footsteps ringing as he hurried away from me, and he slipped around another corner.

I did not have the advantage of knowing Bath as I knew London, despite my study of the street plan as we’d traveled. I could only follow the man, who led me into older and still narrower streets. Though my ribs had healed enough for me to walk along without trouble, they pained me a bit, and I kept up with the man only through force of will.

At last my quarry had to slow for a cluster of people who were wandering about, clearly not knowing the town any better than I did. “Sir,” one of the gentlemen said to the man I chased. “Can you tell us the way to the Pump Rooms?”

The tall man pushed past them, not answering. The inquiring gentleman, a red-faced, plump cylinder in his greatcoat, stared after him. “Good heavens, how rude.” He turned to me. “Sir?”

“Back that way.” I pointed behind me, hoping the direction was correct. “Excuse me.”

I tipped my hat and kept moving, my walking stick tapping rapidly on the uneven pavement. I heard the gentleman continue his exasperation behind me.

I was sorry not to have assisted him, but I had more pressing matters. The man I pursued had turned another corner. I was breathing hard from the chase, and told myself I’d been living too soft since returning from Norfolk.

The encounter with the tourists had slowed my man as well, and I at last closed the distance between us. I was on his heels as he rounded a corner into a tiny, deserted passage. There I seized a handful of his flapping greatcoat and jerked him to a halt.

The man’s hat fell to the cobbles, and he swung around, ready with a practiced punch. But I was practiced as well. I deflected the blow and gave him one of my own.

As we fought, I reflected that he must have learned boxing in the controlled atmosphere of a place such as Gentleman Jackson’s or other instruction rooms. His blows were precise but predictable. I had learned fighting on the battlefields, where gentlemanly rules didn’t apply. I ducked under his reach as he swung at me, shoved my elbow into his gut, and hit him hard in the face when he doubled over. As he gasped and groaned, I grabbed him by the lapels with one hand and lifted him against a brick wall, jamming the handle of my new and strong walking stick to his throat.

“Who the devil are you, and what do you want?”

Instead of looking fearful, the man eyed me in anger. He had light brown eyes, somewhat protruding, and a sharp face that hadn’t been shaved in a day. He answered through thin lips. “It will not go well for you, Captain, if you do not release me.”

I pinned him harder. “No threats. Tell me why you are following me.”

“Paid to, aren’t I?” His flat accent came through, a man from the west country, not London.

“By whom? Mr. Denis?”

“By that filth? I’m a patroller, you fool. I’ll haul you to the magistrate if you do not let go of me.”

“A patroller.” He seemed quite well dressed for a foot patroller or a constable. In spite of the shadow of beard on his face, his dark hair was neatly trimmed and pomaded. Not quite a gentleman but not of the working classes either. “For Bath?”