Rosemary Stevens (14 page)

I reached for my fresh handkerchief, but knew she needed to cry. I sat quietly with one arm lightly around her shoulder while she wept.

When she stopped, I used the handkerchief to dry her cheeks as if she were a small child. She accepted this treatment, then seemed to gather her strength.

“I was almost fifteen years old. Father was struggling to further his career in Bow Street. I knew Mr. Jacombe was an important man and could help Father. They would meet at our rooms and talk about the crime in London and what could be done about it. I would serve tea or coffee and cakes. My mother had died the previous year, you see.”

“So you acted as hostess for your father.”

“Yes. Mr. Jacombe was always polite to me, as I was to him. He was in his middle thirties, not as stout then, and had a kind way of looking at me. He seemed interested in my thoughts and would often ask me my opinion of one thing or another while I was pouring tea. I felt important around him, and I felt that I was helping Father.”

“It must have been a heady combination of feelings for a young girl who had just lost her mother.”

She nodded. “One day he came to our rooms when Father was out. He seemed content to talk with me for, oh, I don’t know, perhaps a quarter of an hour, asking me about my interests, talking to me about what an intelligent man my father was. I was flattered to think this important man would care to converse with me.”

“It would only be natural for you to feel that way.”

“Do you think so?” she asked me.

“Of course. A young girl whose mother has gone out of her life and who is now taking care of her father. Of course she would be charmed by a man of distinction showing an interest in her. Come, Miss Lavender, you have surely heard of many such cases in your work at the shelter.”

“I have. I suppose I just never thought of myself in that way. As vulnerable.”

“Are you not as human as everyone else?”

“I should have known what he was about, and I didn’t!” she exclaimed.

“No, you were an innocent and could not have known.”

She spoke faster now. “He started coming to our rooms more often when Father was not there. He would take tea with me, talk with me. I-I started to have warm feelings toward him, to look forward to his visits.”

“Which he asked you to keep secret from your father.”

“Yes! This was our private time, something special just between the two of us, he would assure me. Then one day, I remember the date, the seventeenth of June, he came to me. We were laughing over something silly when he slowly leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I didn’t pull away, much to my eternal shame.”

“You were curious, as all girls are at that age. And this was a man in your family’s trust.”

“Oh, yes, I trusted him. What a fool I was. A little fool! For once he started kissing me, he did not stop. Even when I grew frightened and asked him to stop, begged him to stop. But he was too strong for me. His hands were suddenly everywhere, he had me on the sofa and was on top of me before I could think what was happening. It was over quickly, then he threatened me. He said that if I ever told my father, he would make sure that Father was dismissed from Bow Street.”

She looked at me then. “I have never told another living soul any of this. I don’t know why I’ve told you.”

“Were not Theobald Jacombe already dead, I would kill him for you, Miss Lavender,” I said.

 I meant my words. Something inside me seemed to break open and release itself into my veins when Miss Lavender told me her story. I wanted to protect her, to understand her, and to give comfort to her. I feared I did not know how to do this, that I would fall short of what she needed from me right now.

“He is dead, so you need not trouble yourself over something that happened seven years ago, Mr. Brummell.”

“Understand this, Miss Lavender. There was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened. You were this man’s victim. I have no doubt he planned a seduction from the moment he laid eyes on you. You are not to blame in any way for his evil.”

“Everyone thinks him such a great man!”

“Evil takes many forms, you know that now. One cannot often easily recognise it. That does not make one a fool.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said doubtfully.

“I know I am. And look what a brave girl you are. This is why you started your shelter, is it not? To help other girls who had been victims at the hands of evil men.”

“Yes. Yes, that is why! I don’t want them to feel the loneliness, the isolation, the shame I felt after it happened.”

I still held the blue material in my hand. “Tell me about this.”

“The gown I had on that day was bloodied after Mr. Jacombe was done with me. I had to get rid of it so Father wouldn’t see, yet I could not bring myself to put it in the dustbin. I needed it somehow, I can’t explain my feelings. I cut it into pieces, throwing the majority of it away, but keeping part of it in a locked box. After his death, I was seized with the desire to bury what was left of the gown with him. I don’t have the answers as to why I am doing it. Mayhaps keeping the gown was a reminder to always be on my guard, to never let another man close to me. Now I want to let the past stay in the past.”

“You have never had a, er, warm relationship with any other man then?”

“No. I never believed I could trust a man. Until now,” she said, looking at me.

I cannot tell you the deep sense of pride and honour I felt when she spoke those last two words. She had given me one of the most precious of treasures, one I would have to guard closely.

“You honour me, Miss Lavender. I shall not betray you.”

“I’m not a young girl anymore, Mr. Brummell. You need not treat me as though I will break.”

At these words, she leaned toward me. I was gripped with a desire to kiss her, yet something held me back. I did not want to hurt her in any way. What would it mean to her if I kissed her? More than she wanted? More than I could give?

But the independent Miss Lavender settled the matter for me. One small hand slipped around my neck and pulled me to her. At the taste of her lips, the feel of her soft mouth, I pushed aside any doubts and kissed her. Pleasure radiated outward from our joined mouths, sending waves of desire through me.

I pulled away.

Miss Lavender put a finger across my lips. “I want nothing from you. Remember, I am no longer a young girl.”

But she was still innocent in some ways for all of her two-and-twenty years, I thought. “I hold you in high esteem, Miss Lavender.”

Her expression brightened a bit. “Good. Then you won’t have the slightest objection to our finding Mr. Jacombe’s killer and freeing the lieutenant together. Together, Mr. Brummell. You can see now why I have such a fevered interest in this case.”

“Well, I—”

“I thought you wouldn’t object. I’ll question Father this evening and see what he knows about the lieutenant’s trial. I’m not certain, but I think with the hue and cry all over London, the Lord Chief Justice will not wait long before hearing the matter.”

No he would not. Nor was there any reason to think that unless I could find out who really killed Mr. Jacombe, Nevill would be sentenced to death.

I hardly slept that night. I could not help but think of Mr. Jacombe’s evil in connection with Miss Lavender. I found myself having mad thoughts of going to the burial ground, digging up his corpse, and wringing his neck.

It was a good thing that the horror Mr. Jacombe had inflicted on Miss Lavender was a secret, else she might be considered a suspect in his murder. The dastard.

What a different man Mr. Jacombe was turning out to be from the image he presented in Society. He had impregnated a servant in his employ, ravished a young girl—who knew how many others there were?—had been involved in that bad banking deal, cut off funds for the care of his natural child, had tried to set up a courtesan in an expensive house, was partners in a bear-baiting ring, and had cheated at cards. The list seemed to go on endlessly.

Sleep did not come to me until the small hours of the morning, thus the hour had already advanced to the afternoon when I awoke. Chakkri presented himself to me for his morning petting and complimenting session. This is where I am forced to stroke his fawn-coloured body until he deems he has had enough. All the while I must tell him what a handsome animal he is, how blue is eyes are, how he is graceful, intelligent, and generally wonderful to have around.

Robinson walked into my chamber while this was going on. His lips pursed as they always do in connection with the cat. “Sir, I regret having to tell you this, but apparently we have an emergency situation on our hands.”

“Oh, devil. Before I have even had my tea, Robinson?”

“I shall bring it to you presently, but I thought you should know that Winifred has a rash.”

“Winifred? Who is Winifred?”

“Mrs. Ed’s piglet.”

“Good God, Robinson, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Chakkri butted his head against my hand. The one which had mistakenly ceased scratching behind his left ear. I remedied my error.

“Mrs. Ed has been stomping about the kitchens, raising her voice at Andre. She says he should have some Smith’s Swine Salve on hand. Sadly, he does not.”

“I assume Smith’s Swine Salve would cure what ails the pig?”

“Evidently, it is the only
oinkment
that will serve.”

“Very funny. And why does Mrs. Ed not simply go out and purchase some of this salve in the market?”

“She claims it is only available back home in Dorset county.”

I sighed. “Tell her I shall see what I can do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring my tea now, Robinson. Oh, and hand me the cat’s brush from the dressing-table before you go.”

Robinson picked up the brush between two fingers and conveyed it to me, arm outstretched. He then left the room to avoid witnessing what was to follow.

Indeed, while the cat adores being brushed, he makes quite a game of it, walking away and then coming back and begging for more.

Clad in a paisley dressing gown, I spent the next quarter of an hour engaged in this pastime, while my mind was on the subject of Mr. Jacombe. Specifically, who had shot him at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.

All during The Dressing Hour, I remained preoccupied, murmuring a request for my Alexandria-blue coat and scolding Robinson for accepting a less than pristine shirt from the laundress, but really thinking only of who was most likely to have killed Mr. Jacombe.

Chakkri was curled on the bed with one brown velvet paw firmly over his eyes.

After dressing, I went downstairs to my bookroom to peruse my letters, when I came upon one from the very person who had most occupied my thoughts: Mr. Jacombe’s killer. Inconsiderate person he or she was, no signature was on the letter, simply the following lines:
The Lieutenant’s time is running out. Find a way to free him. I cannot come forward.

The words were printed on fine paper, just as they had been in the first letter. I slapped it down on my desk in frustration. So the killer could not “come forward,” eh? I expect not, when he or she knew a hangman’s noose would be waiting.

A pounding on the front door distracted me. I folded the letter and put it in my desk drawer along with the other. I heard voices in the hall and glanced at my tall case clock. The hands indicated it was half-past two.

Robinson came into the room looking flustered. “Sir, Miss Lavender is here. Do you wish to see her?” he asked in a pinched voice. He cannot abide Miss Lavender’s tendency to disregard the conventions. Unmarried females do not call at a bachelor’s residence, you know.

“Of course I want to see her. Show her in immediately.”

But Robinson did not need to trouble himself, for Miss Lavender had followed him into the room. She looked particularly fetching today in a moss-green gown cut with a square neck. The dress was more feminine than her usual more serviceable gowns. “Mr. Brummell, I came as soon as I could. I have news.”

I rose. “Robinson, you may go now, unless Miss Lavender would like some tea.” I raised a questioning brow.

“No, nothing, thank you,” she said.

Robinson was forced to leave at this point, much to his sorrow, I was sure. Just as I was sure he would listen outside the door.

“Sit down, Miss Lavender, and tell me what has happened.”

“There is no time. The lieutenant’s grandfather went to Mr. Read early this morning.”

“Mr. Nevill at Bow Street? Did he bail his grandson out of gaol?”

“No! He told Mr. Read that he’d seen
Molly
with a pistol that night at Vauxhall. He says he believes that Molly is the one who killed Mr. Jacombe, and that his grandson is merely taking the blame for his betrothed.”

“The devil you say!”

“It’s true.”

“I would never have believed the old man would be so crafty. Here he can release his grandson from gaol and rid himself of an unwanted future marriage.”

“That’s exactly what I think he’s doing, and that’s what I told Father when he came to my shelter for lunch.”

“Is that how you found out about this, through your father?”

“Yes, but you’ve not heard the worst. When Mr. Read and Father told Lieutenant Nevill what his grandfather said, the lieutenant made a full confession! He claims he
did
kill Mr. Jacombe.”

“Good God. The news will be all over London before Chakkri can turn a whisker.”

“Molly was beside herself when she learned of this. I left her in the care of my assistant and came directly to you.”

“I am glad you did. Let us go at once to King’s Bench Prison and try to talk sense into the lieutenant.”

But there was no reasoning with the soldier. He sat resolutely on the cot in his cell, refusing to even consider retracting his confession. “For they will put Molly in gaol, and that I can’t have,” was all he would say to my entreaties.

I questioned how Bow Street could believe the word of an old man who was partially blind. I begged Lieutenant Nevill to defend himself.

In vain, Miss Lavender and I spent the better part of three hours trying to talk sense to the young man, but he would not budge. He said it all did not matter anyway, since the barrister I had hired said there was nothing he could do unless we could nail down who did commit the murder.