and getting myself introduced to Horne's cousin, Mulverton. Then there was the matter of Charlotte Morrison to look into. But Grenville's carriage stood in Russel Street, at the top of Grimpen Lane, and his footman politely informed me that Grenville was waiting for me at his club.
I was becoming irritated at Grenville's arbitrary summonses, but he might provide me some information on Mulverton. I let the footman help me into the coach. The conveyance was truly luxurious, with plush and tufted walls and deep cushions, and it was so well sprung that the hard cobbles of London jolted me far less than they did in any hackney. I rested my foot on the cushioned stool and resigned myself to the comfortable journey.
I descended into St. James's Street and made my way through the rain and lowering fog to Brooks's club. This early in the afternoon not many gentlemen were about. The club would fill to the brim later in the night when men would risk their fortunes, estates, and family reputations on the turn of a card. Even now, the more hardened players sat in the games room, hunched over green baize tables taking chances on macao or whist.
I asked for Grenville and was shown to one of the parlors. Three gentlemen, necks swathed in starched white, stood at the window, discussing everyone who passed below. Grenville was enthroned in a wing chair near the fire, facing an avid audience of two young dandies, a young lord, and Mr. Gossington, a prime gossip who cared only for his clothes and for sport.
'… lime green waistcoat,' I heard Gossington say as I approached. ' And his trousers so puffed out he had to turn sideways to enter the room. I ask you.'
Grenville saw me and lifted his hand to interrupt. 'You must excuse me, gentleman. I have business with Captain Lacey.'
His audience turned glassy stares on me. Gossington raised his quizzing glass and surveyed me through it from head to toe.
Grenville rose, greeted me, and led me to an empty sitting room beyond the parlor. He closed the door. 'Gossington fancies himself the arbiter of fashion when Brummell is out of earshot, but he comes nowhere near. Though Brummell is getting perilously close to landing himself in the Fleet.'
I had no interest at the moment in the famous debt-ridden dandy, though I could not know that a scarce month later George Brummell would quietly flee England and his creditors and never be seen in London again.
Grenville faced me. 'You haven't been keeping me apprised of what you are doing. What is our plan of action?'
I hadn't realized we'd decided on one. I told him I had begun scouring the brothels for any sign of Jane Thornton, what I'd learned from the valet and John, and my plan to speak to Mulverton.
Grenville shook his head. 'Mulverton might have killed him for the inheritance, but he probably knows nothing of Miss Thornton. No, we'll have to rely on the reward there, I'll wager.'
I silently agreed. 'Have we received any more replies to our advertisement?'
'A good many. All with no idea of Jane's whereabouts. They smell the reward, that's all.'
'So it was a waste of time,' I said flatly.
'Not necessarily. I hold out hope. We did discover the parallel disappearance of Charlotte Morrison. What shall we do about that?'
I thought over again what Charlotte's letters contained. We had discussed them a little on the way home from Hampstead but had drawn no conclusions. 'It might be worth contacting this Geraldine Frazier in Somerset,' I said. 'Charlotte might have revealed something important in the letters she did not copy out.'
Grenville tapped his fingers together. 'One of us could travel to Somerset and speak with her personally. I could take on the task, while you remain in London and continue to search for Miss Thornton.'
'It might be all a mare's nest, a false trail. You would journey all the way to Somerset for nothing.'
Grenville shrugged, spreading his hands. 'Perhaps Charlotte has gone there herself. Or the people who knew her-friends, villagers-might have an idea where she would go if she did run away.'
'And if she did not?'
'Then we continue searching.'
I sat back, frowning. 'You seem eager to dash across England on only a slight possibility.'
'I am restless. London has palled.'
I raised my brows. 'You have been in Town only since January. That has been, what, four months?'
'Laugh at me if you wish. I told you why I wanted to help you.'
'Yes, your great fatigue with life.'
Grenville jumped to his feet. 'Damn it, Lacey. I might actually discover something useful. Perhaps I'll redeem myself in your eyes if I do.'
I blinked. 'What the devil do you mean by that?'
'I mean that you disapprove of me. I am frivolous and too rich and the people of London give me too much adulation. I agree with you. I want to prove you wrong.'
I watched him, surprised. 'I have never said such a thing.'
'You do not have to. It's in your face every time you look at me.'
'Perhaps I am thinking of the woman who lives upstairs from me, who has to shave every penny and even resorts to pinching coal and candles from me.'
'While I pay fifty pounds for a pair of boots.'
'Something like that.'
Grenville was silent for a long time. When he looked at me, I saw a new expression in his eyes, but I was not sure what it meant. 'If I offered her fifty pounds,' he asked, 'would she take it?'
I thought about Marianne and her pretty smiles and hungry eyes. 'She's greedy and grasping, but life has made her so. I would be careful. She might believe you want to become her protector.'
Grenville looked pained. 'Perhaps I will make an anonymous donation and style myself a secret philanthropist. But there is another reason I am eager to help you.'
'What is that?'
He smiled, his mouth drooping into its usual ironic lines. 'I made a rather large wager that you'd clear up the mystery of Horne's murder and find the missing Jane. If I lose it, I will not be able to make donations to your upstairs neighbor. So it's in my own interest to help you as much as I can.'
I left Brooks's and went back out into the rain. I had to admit that Grenville's journey would be a great help. I longed to question Charlotte's friends myself, but I could ill afford to travel across England simply to talk to someone. If Grenville wanted to spend the time and money, I would not stop him. Also, his leaving would coincide with my appointment tomorrow with Denis. I hadn't bothered to tell Grenville about it. He'd only postpone the journey, and I wanted to face Denis without him.
On St. James's Street stood the Guards' club, founded for members of the Foot Guards. The cavalrymen, not to be outdone, had taken to meeting in a coffeehouse 'round the corner. I found myself in front of the coffeehouse before I'd decided what to do next, and ducked into its dark interior.
I scanned the rooms. Lieutenant Gale or his commander might well have stopped for a warm ale or coffee, and I wanted to ask again who had given Gale the order to halt the disturbance in Hanover Square. Perhaps I could shake it out of one of them.
My anger over Thornton's shooting and the abduction of Jane still had not abated. The helplessness of that family and the real grief of Alice, their maid, haunted my dreams. They were crushed and forgotten. Although the magistrates were very interested in the murder of the despicable Josiah Horne, no one gave a damn that a poor clerk's daughter had been ruined and violated by the same Josiah Horne. Gale and young cornet Weddington, after piling more grief onto the Thornton family, had dusted off their hands and walked away. If I ever saw Cornet Weddington again, I might be moved to violence.
Fortunately for Gale, Weddington, and my temper, I did not find either of them within. I found Aloysius Brandon instead.
Louisa Brandon's husband was five years my senior, and had been my commanding officer since I'd been a green and youthful lad. His dark hair was just going to gray, but his ice blue eyes still held the fire that had inspired me to follow him that long-ago day when he'd convinced me to leave my fruitless life and venture with him into the unknown.
These days he wore a fretful look that came from the incidents between us, his boredom with civilian life, and the fact that he had no children, which meant that his wealth and tidy estate in Kent would be handed to a
