A Disappearance in Drury Lane (25 page)

“Get back!” I shouted at the butler, then I leapt over the landing’s railing and onto the stairs, tackling Ridgley.

I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and then I was unclear what happened after that. I remembered myself snarling in rage, my large fists balling, and me punching Ridgley over and over again. The animal in me, fearing for its life and enraged at that fear, was beating the life out of its hunter.

“Lacey!” Grenville’s voice from above me cut through the fog. “He’s down. Don’t kill him, for God’s sake.”

No, if I killed him, we’d never discover who hired him to make the device. I stilled my blows, the pain in my shoulder proving to be a slice from a small knife. The pain in my knee, which I’d ignored in my berserker fury, came back to me in a flare of agony.

Brewster reached down and helped me to my feet, as I was too shaky to stand on my own. Grenville watched from the landing above, his gloved hands gripping the railing, his eyes dark in his sharp, pale face.

Ridgley lay on the stairs, his face a bloody mess. He was still awake—barely—but the look he gave me was neutral, uncaring. No defeat, shame, or defiance.

Denis emerged to stand at the top of the stairs near Grenville. His coat was askew and a small bruise darkened his cheek, but otherwise he looked unscathed. Grenville was breathing hard, but Denis’s chest barely rose and fell.

Unlike Ridgley, who still showed no emotion, Denis’s eyes were filled with fury. “Search him again,” he snapped. “And then bring him back upstairs.”

“Damn it,” Brewster said under his breath as he parted Ridgley’s coat. “We searched him. Thoroughly. I swear to you, Captain.”

“Strip him,” Denis said from above. “Make damn sure he has nothing in his hands, in his mouth, or up his ass. Then bring him to me. In the dining room—my study is too full of smoke.”

So saying, Denis turned his back and strode around the landing and into the dining room. He didn’t slam the door, but he didn’t need to. His rage had put cold fear into his men, and they bent to take it out on Ridgley.

Grenville came down to me and helped me descend the rest of the stairs. I collapsed to a chair in the lower hall, pain flooding me. I’d left my walking stick above, but I didn’t care at the moment.

“Thank you, Lacey,” Grenville said. He crouched on one knee in front of me, his usually perfect hair mussed, his face stained with sweat and soot. “No one but you noticed. He might have been the death of us all.”

“Reminded me of war days,” I said, my voice ragged in my dry throat. “An enemy could roll in an incendiary device to a cluster of men, or send in a man to destroy himself and a handful of us. A cowardly way to fight, but it fulfilled its purpose. Men died or were terrified.”

“Terrified is a good way of putting it.” Grenville gave me a shaky grin. “Your Mr. Denis even thanked me for shoving him to safety, and said he owed me a favor.”

“You have my sympathy,” I said.

“I noticed you not diving for safety,” Grenville said, losing his smile. “But charging headlong. You could have killed yourself, old chap. What would I have told your wife?”

Cold washed through me. A moment ago, I’d felt a small amount of pity for Ridgley with Denis’s men so happily going at him, but the pity dissolved. A man like Ridgley had no concern for hurting others, and anyone, including Donata and my daughter, could have gotten in the way of one of his devices. Let Denis have him and do his worst.

“I need to get home,” I said. I started to my feet and fell back as more pain streaked though my knee and my shoulder. “I am growing too old for this.”

Grenville rose from his crouch, looking as haggard as I felt. “No need to worry, my friend. I’ll fetch your stick, and Jackson will take us home. Won’t be a trice.”

He left me and sprinted up the stairs with an ease I envied. Grenville and I were of an age—why did he have the energy that deserted me?

Grenville had to wait when he was nearly at the top, while Brewster and the other lackeys dragged Ridgley, now divested of his clothes, his head lolling, around the landing and into the dining room. The closing door had a chill sound of finality.

*** *** ***

Grenville took me to his house on Grosvenor Street, bypassing Donata’s. He did this without asking leave, and I was grateful for his decision. I did not want Donata or Gabriella to see the horror of myself. I could clean myself up at his home before returning to my own.

Grenville’s footman Matthias was horrified enough. The valet, Gautier, on the other hand, sat me down to patch up the scrapes on my face and the cut on my shoulder, and most painful of all, my burned hand.

Later, bandages applied, I met Grenville in his private sitting room, brandy already in my good hand. The sitting room contained shelves upon shelves of trinkets from Grenville’s travels, from gold statuettes from Egypt, to ivory pieces from the Japans, to woven carpets from the Ottoman Empire. Every time I came into this room, I saw something I hadn’t seen before, this time a Chinese porcelain bowl, so delicate and perfect, the porcelain translucent, that I stared at it from a few paces back before I left it alone to sit down.

“Ming dynasty,” Grenville said, seeing my interest. “Fifteenth century.”

I carefully eased myself into a chair, thankful that Grenville liked his comfort. “Never let someone like Ridgley in here,” I said, trying to make my voice light. “Disaster.”

Grenville poured brandy for himself and sank onto a gilded chair covered with leopard’s fur, the feet carved into animal claws. “You may joke, but that was a terrifying experience. I’ve met hard men before, Mr. Denis included, but Ridgley is merciless.”

“Abigail Collins is right to be afraid. I had considered the possibility that she used the threats to pretend fear, to take herself away for other reasons, but I have changed my mind. Ridgley’s device would no doubt have killed her, had not Coleman been canny enough to soak it in water. I myself would have fled as soon as I was able.”

“I hope to heaven whoever was vile enough to hire Ridgley has not found her.” Grenville took a deep drink of brandy. “Marianne is still in Bath asking questions—after meeting Ridgley, I wish I hadn’t left her there.”

“I have no doubt Denis is busy taking care that Ridgley will build no more devices.” I moved my mind from speculating upon what Denis might do to the man. “Ridgley knew Denis would never let him go, hence his preparation with the device. He likely kept several at hand in case he needed them. But he isn’t a fanatic—he was prepared to die to keep from being questioned, but when he saw the opportunity to escape in the confusion, he took it.”

“And you went after him, knowing he could have had more devices about his person.” Grenville shook his head and raised his goblet to me. “I commend you, my friend. But never do that again. I believed I aged ten years this afternoon.”

“I had to stop him,” I said. “No matter what.”

“Yes, well.” Grenville blew out his breath and took another drink. “We will have to report this to a magistrate. Ridgley’s lodgings will have to be searched for more devices, for the safety of his neighbors. How a person can be that uncaring, I do not understand.”

“I met a man like him before,” I said, remembering. “Only one, thank God. I had a soldier under my command who killed without emotion. Enemy soldiers and our soldiers alike, with no remorse. When a man kills in war, he feels
something
—terror, victory, compassion for the fallen, admiration for a man who fought well to his death. This soldier had none of that. For him, the person he killed had simply gotten in his way. He obeyed orders to the letter, so I made certain I and my sergeants were careful how we phrased our commands to keep him from doing more harm than good. He finally fell in battle at Albuera, and none of his fellow soldiers were much grieved. I disliked ever looking at the man. There was nothing in his eyes.”

“Well, God save me from meeting another like Ridgley,” Grenville said.

We both went silent a moment, soothing ourselves with drink and the quiet comfort of the room. I finished my goblet of brandy and rose to pour another.

“Do you know whether Marianne has found out anything?” I asked, resuming my seat. “Has she sent any word?”

“A letter arrived from her this morning,” Grenville said. “Marianne reported that she’s found only one interesting thing. An actress she befriended in Bath swore she saw Mrs. Collins earlier in the autumn, but not anywhere near a theatre. She saw her at a church one Sunday morning, staying well to herself. Mrs. Collins wasn’t praying fervently or anything, only taking in the service. But that was months ago, and the actress hasn’t seen her since. And the actress did not speak to Mrs. Collins or draw close to her, so she might have been mistaken.”

“That is more than we’ve learned so far,” I said, feeling my interest return. “The question is, why did Perry pay the lease on her flat? To have an excuse for discovering whether Mrs. Collins was there? Or because Mrs. Collins asked him to? Was Perry her friend or her foe?”

“If he was a friend, then why did he abduct you and have you beaten? Not the actions of a friendly man.”

I took another sip of brandy while I thought. “He questioned me about Drury Lane and why I’d gone there. I assumed he thought I knew where Mrs. Collins had gone. But perhaps he thought
I
was a danger to her and wanted me to stay away from her. But who knows what Perry had in his head? We’ll never know, because someone beat him to death.”

I took leaned back in my chair and tried not to grow discouraged. The balm Gautier had smeared on my hand was cool, the burn starting to feel a little better.

“We should turn our thoughts to his murder,” Grenville said. “Who would want to kill Mr. Perry? Ridgley, perhaps, if Perry hired him and Ridgley feared exposure. But who else
could
have? You, because you were still in town and had a bit of a grudge against the man.” Grenville held up his hand, touching his forefinger. “Ridgley, although he would likely have found a way to blow up Perry without being near him.” He touched his next finger. “Mr. Spendlove, to throw blame on you.” He moved to his next finger. “Who else?”

“Brewster, on orders from Denis,” I said. “Though I am certain Brewster would have disposed of Perry’s body and cleaned up my rooms. Denis would have insisted.”

Grenville lowered his hand. “Unless Denis thought having you take the blame for Perry’s death a way to rid himself of you.”

I shook my head. “If Denis wants rid of me, he will not go about it so clumsily as having me accused of murder. A charge might not stick. No, he’ll do it irrevocably.”

“Please do not speak like that.” Grenville looked pained. “Again, I’d have to explain your demise to Donata, and I wish to be spared that. Have pity on me, Lacey.”

“Denis had the opportunity to kill me in the Norfolk marshes, and he did not. I believe he is keeping me alive and well for reasons of his own.”

“You do not make me feel better. But let us return to the question of who else could have killed Mr. Perry. Felicity? She was very afraid of him.”

“I considered her from the first,” I said. “Apparently the blows were heavy, but Felicity is strong, and a woman afraid could make them. I’m not sure, however, that she would have remained in London after she’d beaten him to death, continuing her trade as though nothing had happened. Surely she’d have removed herself.”

“Felicity does have an arrogance about her, despite her fears. She might think herself safe.” Grenville shrugged. “What about this Coleman fellow? He’d be strong enough.”

“True,” I said. “He is very protective of Mrs. Wolff, who was married to Perry, for heaven’s sake. Coleman might have seen Perry as a threat to both Hannah and Abigail, and decided to keep both ladies safe for once and for all. Why in my rooms, I do not know, but perhaps Perry went there to look about, and Coleman found him there.”

“Worth pondering. And asking him. You might take your friend Pomeroy for that.”

“I do not want to if he’s innocent,” I said. “Pomeroy enjoys arresting people. And then there’s the problem of Mrs. Carfax and her evidence.”

I told Grenville the tale of Mrs. Carfax and my certainty that Spendlove had made her tell the tale she did.

“Hmm,” Grenville said. “I agree with Denis that you should make her see that lying for Mr. Spendlove is not a good thing. I have a proposal—let me talk with Miss Winston and Mrs. Carfax for you. Or Miss Winston alone if Mrs. Carfax proves too reluctant. I have been told I have a certain charm.”

“By all means,” I said without smiling. “Charm them. They are apt to look upon me as though I’m a beast readying myself to spring upon them. I suppose in spite of my politeness, I have not learned the correct demeanor.”

Grenville’s lips twitched. “You were born to be a soldier and shout at people. You are excellent at it. I was born to coerce, which is how I survive. Also, you are tall, which unnerves others, especially sheltered spinsters. My more modest height is less intimidating.”

“You have an uncanny knack for mocking others and yourself at the same time,” I said, “and yet making the mocking sound like a compliment.”

“I told you, I learned young how to coerce. You speak to the robust and protective Coleman, and I will take the gentler Miss Winston. Better action than waiting for Denis to send word what he’s learned from Ridgley, if he learns anything at all. It is too bad about Denis’s study burning, though. I found it quite a tasteful room.”

*** *** ***

Grenville and I shared his carriage to Covent Garden, he departing for Grimpen Lane and Miss Winston, I turning off to Drury Lane theatre.

A performance had been scheduled for later today as well as several tonight, so the theatre was alive with people scurrying about to ready the place. I did not bother to knock at the stage door, which opened and closed often as I watched. People strode purposefully in and out, including men carrying planks of wood and tools for repairs. I simply blended into the chaos and found myself inside.

Gone was the dusty silence of backstage when I’d visited before New Year’s. The theatre had emerged from its dormancy and was now filled with actors and workmen, the quiet replaced with sounds of hammering, shouts, rapid conversations, laughter.