'You did not like me, but you wanted information. I thought you a vacant-headed toady of Grenville's, and I sought to teach you a lesson, but I failed in that regard. You intrigued me mightily, you know.'
'I am honored.'
'Cease the Spanish coin, Captain. I will help you, because you are never interested in a thing unless it is worth the interest.' Her eyes took on a mischievous sparkle. 'But if I am to do you this favor, Captain, you must do me one in return.'
'Of course,' I said at once. 'Tell me what it is, and I am your servant.'
'I highly doubt that. I will ask you when I am finished interrogating Lady Clifford.'
I had to wonder what she had in mind, but I was happy that she was willing to help. 'I will be obliged to you,' I said.
'Goodness, you must truly be fascinated by the Clifford problem if you rashly promise that. But do not worry. I will discover what I can-discreetly-and report to you. Lady Clifford loves to talk about herself, in any case. I do not imagine I will have much difficulty.'
'Could you contrive to speak to Mrs. Dale, as well? I very much would like to talk to her, but I've never met the woman.'
'I will manage it.' Lady Breckenridge spoke with firm self-confidence. 'I believe she is an opium eater.'
I stared. 'Mrs. Dale?'
'Very likely in the form of laudanum. She has the look-red-rimmed eyes, rather pasty complexion, trembles a bit but strives to hide it. Such things happen.'
Indeed, some people took laudanum for legitimate ailments, as I did when the pain in my leg proved too great, but then they could not leave off when they felt better. Poets apparently produced works of genius in this state. Grenville had an aversion to laudanum, even a fear.
'Tell me, Lacey,' Lady Breckenridge said. She straightened up and sat neutrally, no artifice. 'Why are you so interested in this theft? Aside from making certain your galumphing Runner does not arrest and hang the wrong person, that is. The solution is simple. Lady Clifford sold the necklace to pay her debts, she tried to push the blame on her rival, and her maid inadvertently was arrested instead. The problem is ended.'
'Perhaps,' I said. I rubbed my thumb over my engraved name on the walking stick. 'But there seems to be more to it. And truth to tell, when I found Lady Clifford in such misery, I wanted to help her. Doubly after I met her husband.'
'Yes, Clifford is ghastly. You are quite the romantic, Captain Lacey, ever one to assist a lady in distress.'
'Sometimes there is no one else to care,' I said. 'If that is romantic, then so be it.'
Lady Breckenridge rose, came to me as I got to my feet, and put her hand over my much larger one. 'It is one of the reasons I have decided to call you friend.' She raised on her tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to my cheek. 'Now, do go away. I must dress if I am to pay a sympathy call on Lady Clifford.'
As I left Lady Breckenridge's house and walked down the street to find a hackney, I felt anew her kiss on my cheek. It reminded me of other kisses she'd given me, on the lips, as well as the few precious times her head had rested on my shoulder. My mood, soured by the encounter with James Denis and the dressing down Lord Clifford had given us, lightened considerably.
I had the hackney driver let me out at Southampton Street, and I ducked into the Rearing Pony for a restorative measure of good, bitter ale before walking home.
The city was darkening, clouds rolling in to spoil the sunshine and drench us in more rain. The last shoppers were purchasing supper in Covent Garden as I made my way through, and I paused to be entertained by a troupe of acrobats near one corner.
I continued the short way down Russel Street and turned in at Grimpen Lane, and made for the outside door next to the bake shop that led upstairs to my rooms. Mrs. Beltan, my landlady, who owned the shop, stood at her doorstep to watch me approach, looking impatient.
'There you are, Captain,' she called. 'I wasn't certain what to do. A gentleman has called on you, and I didn't want to let him up in your rooms without you here.' She stepped close to me as I neared her and lowered her voice to a furtive whisper. 'He is French.'
Chapter Five
I looked past Mrs. Beltan into the shop and the gentleman there. The man was on the small side, with gray hair cropped close against a fine-boned face. He wore respectable clothing, nothing very costly. I did not know him, but he looked harmless.
'Sir,' I nodded at him as I entered the shop. 'We can talk in my rooms above and let this good lady retire.'
The man bowed back to me. 'Thank you, monsieur.'
His accent was quite thick, as though he spoke English only when he could not avoid doing so. I stood back to let him pass and tipped my hat to the anxious-looking Mrs. Beltan.
'Do not worry,' I murmured. 'The war is over. I doubt we'll reenact Vitoria in my sitting room.'
Mrs. Beltan gave me a displeased look, but she shrugged her plump shoulders and retreated. I took the unknown Frenchman upstairs and unlocked the door to my rooms.
Bartholomew had already stoked the fire, though the lad was nowhere in sight. The Frenchman moved to the fire and held his hands out to it. The coming rain had turned the evening cold.
'How can I help you, sir?' I asked.
He turned and regarded me with a cool gray stare. Though he was, as I'd observed, a small-boned man, he held himself with dignity, almost arrogance. 'I have heard that you are a man to be trusted, Captain Lacey. A man of honor.'
'I make that attempt, yes.'
I closed the door behind me but didn't lock it then moved to the cupboard for brandy and two glasses. I had no worries about offering my brandy to a haughty Frenchman, because Grenville had given the stuff to me, so it was the best France could supply.
The man stood silently as I poured out and brought him a glass. He passed the goblet I handed him under his nose, then his expression changed to that of a man who'd unexpectedly come upon paradise.
He closed his eyes as he poured a little brandy into his mouth, then he pressed his lips together and rocked his head back in pure delight.
When he opened his eyes, I saw tears in them. 'Thank you, sir. This is exquisite. I have not tasted such… in many years.' He spoke heavily and slowly, pausing to make a low 'hmm' noise in his throat.
'My friend Mr. Grenville has impeccable taste,' I said. 'You are an emigre?'
He had the bearing of wealth and breeding, but his cheap clothes, his heavy accent, and the fact that he was in London at all told me he'd fled France long ago, when Madame Guillotine had been searching for victims.
'I am. I was… hmm… once the Comte de Mercier du Lac de la Fontaine. A long time ago now. Now the English call me Monsieur Fontaine.'
An aristocrat, which explained the bearing. Likely the master of a vast estate, with hundreds of peasants toiling to keep him in silk stockings and the best brandy. All gone in the blink of an eye. I wagered that Fontaine's estate was now in the hands of a nouveau riche banker from Paris.
My wife lived somewhere in France, in a small village with her French officer lover. I doubted that this man knew her-I was willing to believe he'd fled France when the first danger had flared in Paris, before England and France went to war.
'What may I do for you, Monsieur le Comte?' I asked.
'My daughter, she is… hmm… married to an Englishman of some respectability. He is a member of White's club and quite proud of the fact.' De la Fontaine gave me the ghost of a smile. I envisioned a pompous young Englishman pleased with himself that he'd landed the daughter of a French count.
'Do I know him?' I asked.
