remembered that Denis kept two boats on the Thames-which I'd learned when he'd procured the painting for my friend-and I went there. One of the boats was gone, and several boatmen on shore had seen it taken out. So I hired a boat, and Brandon and I went after you.' He stopped. 'Is it true you started that blaze on board?'
'Yes.'
'Good Lord, man. You might have killed yourself.'
'I know. But I would have taken Denis's men with me. They meant to frighten me, and I wanted to frighten them back.'
'Good God, Lacey, I sincerely hope he calls a truce. And that you honor it.'
I lay quietly for a moment, my aching head demanding a rest. I had slighted Grenville in my proud anger and still he'd made a dangerous and difficult attempt to rescue me. True, part of his impetus had been to satisfy his sense of adventure, but his actions told me that he forgave my momentary peevishness and thought it of no consequence. There was just a chance that I might have made a friend.
I opened my eyes again. 'You said in your letter that you'd found interesting developments in Somerset.'
Grenville's eyes sparkled. 'I found much more than that, Lacey. What I found was the missing Charlotte Morrison.'
Chapter Twenty-Two
I nearly sat up, but pain drove me back down. 'Found her?'
'Yes, safe and sound, and married to a vicar.'
I stared. 'Did you say married to a vicar?'
'Exactly.'
'Then she has nothing to do with Jane Thornton.'
'I could see no connection, no.'
I rubbed my pounding temples. 'Damn. Then you went for nothing.'
'Not necessarily,' Grenville said. 'I believe the problem more complex. Her curate became a vicar with a living, and a rather good one; I can't imagine the Beauchamps opposing the match.'
'Why the mystery, then?'
Grenville tapped his fingertips together, a habit, I noticed, he had when interested in a problem. 'That is what I wondered. Miss Morrison wouldn't speak much to me, and neither would her husband. They thought at first I'd come from Bow Street to drag her back to Hampstead. When I finally convinced them I had not, they unbent a little, but still did not want me to tell the Beauchamps where she was. I pointed out to Miss Morrison that she'd worried her cousins exceedingly, but this did not appear to move her. She seems very frightened of something, and I could not get her to tell me what.'
I thought about the letters she'd written to her friend, which had hinted at some fear. 'Did you speak to her friend, Miss Frazier?'
'I did. She is a lively woman, a spinster of about thirty, and apparently Miss Morrison's greatest friend. When I asked her about what Charlotte Morrison had written to her, she looked down her fine nose at me and told me to mind my own damned business. She said she would do nothing to interfere with Charlotte's happiness, and the best thing I could do was return to London and pretend I'd never come.'
'She certainly sounds firm of purpose. What did you do?'
Grenville lifted his hands. 'I returned to London. I suddenly realized she was right, that the lives of Charlotte Morrison and the Beauchamps were none of my damned business. So now I have a dilemma. Do I tell the Beauchamps that their cousin is safe and relieve their fears? Or do I pretend I never went to Somerset, as Miss Frazier commanded, and let them sort it out themselves?'
I lay quietly for a time, thinking. The conclusions my drugged mind had drawn flitted just out of reach, what had seemed so clear then now foggy and muddled.
'I believe I know why she went,' I said.
'Do you? Well, I am baffled. I might understand her actions if she'd run away with some roue, but she married a stolid, respectable vicar with gray hairs. Why should she fear telling her family of it? Unless he's a highwayman in disguise.' He laughed a little at his own joke.
'I'm certain the vicar is as respectable and steady as he seems. But I have an advantage. I read the letters, and you did not.'
'But you told me what was in them,' Grenville pointed out.
'I know. But I couldn't convey the feelings I got from them. There was so much Miss Morrison did not say.'
Grenville regarded me impatiently. 'So what do I do, Lacey? Tell the Beauchamps to find her themselves?'
'Tell them nothing for now. I would like to go to Hampstead myself and speak to Lord Sommerville.'
'Why? Sommerville already told me he'd discovered nothing about his kitchen maid's death.'
Weariness weighted my limbs, and I needed to sleep, but I answered. 'Charlotte disappeared soon after the maid's death. So soon that my first thought upon hearing the tale was that the body found was Charlotte's.'
'I thought the same. But it wasn't.'
'No. Charlotte is alive and well.'
Grenville shot me an impatient look. 'You're being damned cryptic, Lacey.'
'Forgive me, I'm still half-dead on opium. I mean that Charlotte no doubt knows who killed the girl. That knowledge made her flee back to the safety of Somerset.'
Grenville stared at me a moment, clearly curious. Then he shook his head. 'Our trip to Hampstead will have to wait in any case. I doubt you could walk across a room just now.'
He was right. I sank a little farther into the mattress. 'It was good of you to put me up. I will remove to my own rooms as soon as I can.'
'Nonsense. Stay until you are healed. You need warmth and I have plenty of coal. My chef is happily inventing menus for you. I think he's rather bored with me.'
'I suppose you won't let me argue.'
'Suppress your pride for once and do what's good for you, Lacey. We'll go to Hampstead when you're better, but only when you're better. Or I'll fetch Mrs. Brandon, who will no doubt tie you to the bed.'
I smiled and subsided. I prepared to let myself drift off to sleep again, then I remembered something. 'What day is it?'
'A fine and fair Monday afternoon.'
I tried to sit up. 'Bremer's trial is today. I can't in all conscience let him be condemned for murder. I must talk to Pomeroy.'
Grenville shook his head. 'It will keep. In fact, it no longer matters.'
His somber look alarmed me. 'Why not?'
'I'm sorry, Lacey. I heard yesterday that the wretched Bremer is dead.'
I convalesced at Grenville's for five days. His chef did prepare some delightful and hearty meals for me, and it was probably thanks to his cooking that I healed as quickly as I did. His valet also seemed to enjoy waiting on me, and the footman who lugged coal bins about always stopped to chat about sport and give me a few tips on the races.
And all I could mull over was that I had not saved the stupid and frail Bremer.
Grenville had a friend who was a barrister, a silk, and he, knowing of Grenville's interest in the case, had relayed the news of Bremer's death. There'd been nothing sinister about it. Bremer had caught a chill, which settled in his lungs, and he'd died quickly.
Grenville told me, 'My friend said that the magistrate believed Bremer to be guilty and that a gentler justice was served him by the hand of God. Butler went mad and killed his master, the magistrate said, was arrested, and died in gaol. End of story. Public and justice satisfied.'
