The Sudbury School Murders (30 page)

"We'll get a conviction," Pomeroy said, his
blond hair slick with the evening's rain. "Sutcliff's papa is rich
enough to buy them off, but Sir Montague is a stickler. He'll push
it through."

"We can hope so," Grenville said dubiously.
He was much stronger, but he moved slowly and flinched simply
lifting his tankard of ale. He had visited Marianne earlier that
day, and from the pinched lines about his mouth, I understood that
the encounter had not gone well.

Pomeroy, oblivious to such things, rambled
on. "Why should a rich cove's son like that swindle and blackmail
and murder, eh Captain? He's got everything handed to him on gold
plates."

I sipped my ale, which was rich and warm
against the March rain outside. "Because his father wouldn't give
him the gold plates," I answered. "Kept him on a meager allowance
and refused to let him come into the business until he grew up a
little. Sutcliff told me himself he'd wanted to prove to his father
that he could make money on his own and be as ruthless as any
nobleman."

"Rich gents," Pomeroy said derisively. "Me
own dad never had nothing, so I took the king's shilling. I didn't
need to prove nothing."

I had run away from home to the army, as
well, though I'd gone with Brandon to receive an officer's
commission. In my heart, I'd wanted to prove myself better than my
father. I hated to think that I understood Frederick Sutcliff all
too well.

Grenville lifted his brows. "My father kept
me on a strict allowance as a lad. He was generous with gifts, but
not such a fool as to give me enough money with which to make an
idiot of myself. Funnily enough, I never resorted to blackmail and
other crimes to supplement my income."

"Yes, sir, but you're not wrong in the head."
Pomeroy tapped his forehead. "That Sutcliff chap is a bit
crazed."

"I'd feel sorry for him," Grenville said. He
put his hand to his torso and winced. "Except for this bit of a
hole in my middle. Perhaps I'll make it a fashion, a knife slit in
coat and waistcoat, a hairsbreadth shy of the heart and lungs."

Pomeroy guffawed, but I knew Grenville's
anger. It had been too close.

Pomeroy drained his glass and wiped his
mouth. "Well, young Sutcliff is for it. The father will probably
get him transported instead of hanged, but that's the rich for you.
Now, it's back to Bow Street for me, though I'll walk slowly and
see how many criminals I can catch in the act."

He chuckled, touched his forelock to us, and
left the tavern. I had no doubt that he'd arrest several unlucky
pickpockets and prostitutes along the way.

"To think," Grenville said, absently turning
his tankard. "That I thought a post at a boys' school would be
restful and unexciting." He shook his head. "More fool I."

"I have come to appreciate the quiet of
Grimpen Lane," I said, smiling a little.

He did not return the smile. "Marianne," he
began in a low voice, "will not tell me why she traveled to
Hungerford. She made it plain that she did not want to tell me. I
know, however, that you know." He lifted his tankard and drank.
"And that you, too, will not tell me."

I felt a twinge of remorse, but I shook my
head. "I am sorry. The secret is hers, and I gave her my word."

He lifted his gaze to mine. The pain in his
dark eyes did not come from his wound. "You are a singular man,
Lacey. You will keep your word to an actress who is little better
than a courtesan, but you will not answer to a man with the power
to break many a gentleman in his path."

"I know," I said.

He held my gaze for a moment, then looked
away. "So be it," he said.

He turned the conversation, as only he could,
to other, inconsequential things, but I knew it would be a long
time before he would bring himself to forgive me.

*** *** ***

Pomeroy's prediction that Frederick Sutcliff
would never hang for murder proved to be true. He did appear at
trial and was condemned, but Sutcliff's father was wealthy enough
and powerful enough to have the sentence commuted to
transportation. I watched from the gallery as Sutcliff stammered
his way through the trial. Jeanne Lanier appeared and behaved very
prettily, easily charming the judge into believing her a naïve
Frenchwoman easily duped.

It sealed Sutcliff's fate. Rutledge also
attended the trial. When I saw him in the street afterward, he
growled at me and blamed me for the entire affair. I tipped my hat
to him and walked on.

*** *** ***

Louisa Brandon visited me the next day. I had
at last written her that James Denis had given me the information
about Carlotta and my daughter. She had not written back, but when
I saw her carriage in the street outside Grimpen Lane, my heart
lightened.

Once I had sent Bartholomew and Louisa's
footman away, I could not keep from her. I kissed her cheek, then I
held her hands and simply looked at her.

"I missed you," I said.

"I missed you, as well." She frowned at me.
"Now I want to hear the entire awful tale of everything that
happened at Sudbury. To think I imagined you'd gone to enjoy green
meadows and rides along quiet lanes."

"The country is a brutal place," I said,
hoping to make her smile. I sat her down and began to tell her all
that happened.

She asked questions, and I answered, and the
tension between us fell away. We talked long and easily, as we'd
done in the army when she and I and Brandon had spent the end of
every day together. Louisa and I had gabbed like old gossips,
making light of our fears for the morrow.

After our conversation had wound to its
close, I pulled out the paper Denis had given me and handed it to
her.

She scanned it in silence, her eyes a
mystery. "What will you do?"

"That is why I asked you here. To tell me
what to do."

"Gabriel . . ."

I rose and paced, unable to keep still. "I
cannot trust my own heart, Louisa. It has been too long. Shall I
rush to France and wrest her from a life where she has been happy?
Demand my rights as a husband and father? How will that make
anything better?"

She watched me with troubled eyes. "You do
not know she has been happy."

"Of course she has. Carlotta was not the sort
to live in silent misery. If her French officer made her unhappy,
she would have flown elsewhere, again and again, until she felt
safe. Or she'd have flown back to England, to you, not me. She was
a woman who ever needed comfort and protection."

"That is so," Louisa agreed, though she
sounded skeptical.

"If I go . . . If I see her . . . "

How would I feel? Angry? Petulant? Happy that
she was happy? Was I ready to release her? I had lectured Grenville
to let Marianne be, but could I do the same with Carlotta? I had
let her go, when she first fled me, but had I ever let go in my
heart?

"Perhaps you ought to see her," Louisa said,
"if only to say good-bye."

I ceased pacing. "It is still like a knife in
my heart, Louisa."

"Why? Because she had the gall to leave you?
Or because you loved her?"

I opened my mouth for a sharp retort, then
closed it. Louisa's words were harsh, but they were also
shrewd.

"If it were only Carlotta, I would not even
consider," I said. "But I long to see my daughter. I want to see
how she has grown and whether she is happy. Damn it, Louisa, she is
mine."

"And what if she does not know you?"

"I will tell her who I am."

Louisa held my gaze. "And what if she does
not know that Gabriel Lacey, and not the French officer, is her
father?"

I stopped. "Do you think Carlotta would have
kept that from her? Would she have been that cruel?"

Louisa nodded. "Yes, I think she would have
been."

I studied her a moment. "Do you know, I
believe that when she left, you were as angry as I was. But you had
never much liked Carlotta."

"I believed her a fool," she answered
crisply. "She never understood your true worth."

"She understood well enough. I was worth
nothing beyond my pay packet and my overblown sense of honor."

"No," Louisa said in a hard voice. "She never
did understand. Never appreciated what you were, and what she
had."

Our gazes met. Louisa's eyes were a steely
gray, her cheeks flushed. I held her gaze for a long moment, while
thoughts flew by that went unsaid.

At last I turned away. "Well, she is gone
now," I said softly.

"If you go to France, Gabriel, I will go with
you."

She sat very primly on my armchair, her tone
matter-of-fact. For one heady moment I pictured us traveling side
by side, chattering away as we liked, her golden head on my
shoulder as she rested in our traveling coach.

The vision shattered at once as I realized
that if she came with me, her husband would accompany us. Colonel
Brandon would never allow his wife to travel alone with me to the
Continent as long as he was alive. I thought of his stiff-necked
silence on the days and days of the journey through France and
shuddered.

"I will think on it," I said. "Thank
you."

We spoke further, trying to turn to neutral
topics, but nothing interested us much.

At last Louisa rose to take her leave. I
kissed her good-bye, let my hands linger in her cool ones just a
moment too long, then I let her go.

*** *** ***

That night I sat in Lady Breckenridge's
drawing room with Lady Aline Carrington and Lucius Grenville and
others of the
ton
and listened to a rather young poet read
beautiful and moving words. My heart was still heavy, but I allowed
myself to be soothed by his verses.

When we broke for refreshment, I found myself
with Lady Breckenridge in an unoccupied corner.

"Your eyes are tired, Captain," she said.
"Did you not enjoy the poetry?"

"I did like it," I answered with sincerity.
"The young gentleman shows great promise. I admit, however, to
liking the company still more. An evening spent with friends is
refreshing."

One corner of her mouth turned up in a
half-smile. "Dare I be flattered? Or did you refer to Mr. Grenville
and Lady Aline, your dear friends?"

I smiled. "I referred to Mr. Grenville and
Lady Aline and Lady Breckenridge."

She took this attempt at a compliment with a
cool nod, but looked pleased. "I am happy that we have drawn you
back from the country, then."

"The city also has its joys," I said. "I
meant to once again thank you for the gift of the walking stick. It
became most useful."

Her smile deepened. "I was certain it
would."

We shared a look, her dark blue eyes holding
something warm and intriguing.

I decided then and there that I preferred her
conversation to that of Jeanne Lanier. Jeanne knew how to flatter,
how to draw a man out, how to put him at his ease. She could smile
and laugh as expected and make a gentleman feel that he was
exceptional.

Lady Breckenridge spoke her mind and did not
always soften her barbs. But she would always be sincere. A
flattering word from her was well earned and well meant.

She slid her hand beneath my arm. "Shall we
return? Mr. Tibbet will recite lines he composed while staying in
an ancient castle in Scotland. Very atmospheric."

I smiled down at her as she led me away. I
found the warmth of her slender fingers in the crook of my arm
quite satisfactory.

END

Please continue reading for a preview of Captain
Lacey's next adventure

The Necklace Affair

By Ashley Gardner

A Novella (Book 4.5)

of the Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries

* * * * *

Chapter One

On an evening in late March 1817, I climbed
to the third floor of Lucius Grenville’s Grosvenor Street house in
search of peace, and found a lady, weeping, instead.

In the rooms below me, Grenville's latest
revelry tinkled and grated, Grenville celebrating recovery from a
near-fatal injury. The entire
haut ton
had turned up
tonight, Lucius Grenville being the darling of society, a dandy all
other dandies aspired to be. The famous Brummell had fled to the
Continent, Alvanley grew stout, but Grenville reigned supreme. He
was an epicure who knew how to avoid excess, a sensual man who
could resist the temptations of sloth and lechery.

I'd enjoyed speaking to a few of my friends
below, but the transparent way Grenville's sycophants tried to
exploit my acquaintance with him soon grated on my patience. I
decided to sit in Grenville's private room and read until the
festivities died down.

I used my walking stick and the banister,
hand-carved by an Italian cabinetmaker, to leverage myself up the
stairs. My leg injury, given to me by French soldiers during the
Peninsular War, did not affect me so much tonight as did the near
gallon of port I had drunk. I could never afford what Grenville had
in his cellars, so when he invited me to partake, I took enough to
last.

Therefore, I was well past foxed when I at
last emerged onto the third floor and sought the peace of
Grenville's sitting room.

I found the lady in it, weeping.

She sat squarely under the scarlet tent that
hung in the corner of the room, a souvenir from Grenville's travels
in the east. The entire room was a monument to his journeys--ivory
animals from the Indies reposed next to golden masks from Egypt,
rocks bearing the imprint of ancient American animals held pride of
place near hieroglyphic tablets from Babylon.

The lady might have been pretty once, but too
many years of rich food, late mornings, and childbirth had etched
their memories onto her face and body. Her large bosom, stuffed
into a satin bodice and reinforced with bands of lace, quivered
with her misery.