Sommerville, an elderly viscount, and listened curiously while I asked his lordship about his kitchen maid.
Lord Sommerville reiterated what he'd told Grenville earlier, that he'd found no satisfactory culprit in his kitchen maid's death. He directed me to the housekeeper, who had known the girl better, with the instruction that he wanted to know anything I discovered about the girl's murder. The housekeeper restated what Lord Sommerville had told me and let me talk with the kitchen maid's sister, who also worked in the house.
The sister was still very upset about Matilda's death, but she spoke with me readily. She wanted to find the culprit more than anything and bring him to justice. Yes, she believed it had been a man, the same man who had turned Matilda away from her other young man. Matilda had not told her sister who she'd taken up with, but she'd shown her little trinkets the man had bought her and bragged that she was moving up in the world. Matilda had slipped out in the middle of the night, probably to meet this new suitor, and had never returned.
I gave the woman my condolences, and Grenville and I took our leave.
'Was that helpful?' he asked as we rolled away in his luxurious coach. 'I first believed that the person who killed the maid also killed Charlotte Morrison, but Miss Morrison is alive.'
'Miss Morrison is alive because she ran away. And she ran away because of the maid's death.'
'Because she feared for her own life?'
'Because she knew who killed the maid. And it upset her so much that she fled.'
'If that is the case, why didn't she go to Lord Sommerville and tell him what she knew?'
I contemplated the green meadow on our right. 'She was afraid. Or so horrified by what she knew that she could only think to get away. She was wrong to go, but I understand why she did. Sometimes it is easier to turn your back on the truth than to face it, especially when it is more painful than you can stand.'
Grenville had nothing to answer to this, and we traveled in silence for a time. Then Grenville cleared his throat. 'There is something I've wanted to ask you, Lacey, about you and Brandon. On the rowboat, you fought him hard, and he looked at you as though he'd cheerfully kill you. I'd thought you the dearest of friends.'
'We were. Once.'
Curiosity flickered in his eyes, but I shook my head. 'I might be able to explain someday. The same day you explain to me why you disappeared from the inn when we visited Hampstead the first time.'
Grenville started, then laughed. 'And I thought I was utterly discreet.' He turned to look out the window, his gaze fixing on something far from here. 'Let us say that I have a friend who once met a lady. But what was between them could not be. And so he agreed to go away. Much time has passed since then. And then the friend heard the lady was in Hampstead, and so he searched for any excuse to go there.' He slanted me a wry look. 'Unfortunately, his damned curiosity led him to an interest in other problems, and he went all the way to Somerset to satisfy it.'
Grenville looked embarrassed, an expression I'd never seen on his face. His sangfroid had slipped, and I had the feeling that few people had ever seen it slip.
I tapped my walking stick on the scarred, square toe of my boot. 'I have a friend,' I began, then stopped. I should say nothing, but somehow I wanted Grenville to know, to understand, the depths of my anger, and why I'd never forgiven Brandon, nor he me. 'This friend knew another man, a man of pride and wealth whom the friend deeply respected. My friend followed his every order without question. One day,' I said, my voice slowing, 'this respected man made the decision to put aside his lady. She could not give him children, you see, which was a severe blow to him. The great man's family and name meant much to him, and he saw his lineage trickling away to weaker and lesser branches. And so he decided, with great reluctance, that she must be sent away.' I studied the tip of my boot with great intensity. 'My friend objected in the strongest possible manner to the dishonor such a thing would cause this lady. If she were put aside, she would be ruined, reviled, and this the friend could not allow. He found himself in the situation of having to choose between his love for the lady and his love for the great man. And so he chose. Things grew complex from there. Suffice it to say, the two gentlemen nearly killed one another over it.'
I stopped, tired of the memories. Still vivid in my mind was the night Louisa's golden head had rested on my shoulder when she'd come to me in anguish. I remembered with perfect clarity, as though it had happened yesterday, the silken texture of her hair beneath my palm, the heat of her tears on my cheek. Also vivid was the look on Brandon's face when he'd walked in and found her crying on my shoulder-the anger, the chagrin, the utter heartbreak.
I said nothing about the rest of it, how Brandon had let anger simmer inside him until the day he could take his revenge. After Vitoria, he had sent me to take up immediate command of another unit, neglecting to inform me I'd journey alone right through a pocket of French troops. They ambushed me, stole the papers I carried-which were false anyway-and then amused themselves torturing me.
An English troop at last swooped down upon them, and I was left with the dead. The English did not see me, and I crawled away from the scavengers, broken and barely alive.
After many days, I had regained my regiment, my leg a ruin. The look on Brandon's face when he saw that I was alive told me everything.
Our commander had not been best pleased with either of us. A scandal between officers was not what he wanted in his regiment. He had made me realize that if I raised a stink, if Brandon were court-martialed as he deserved, the disgrace would stain all of us-Brandon, me, Louisa, the regiment.
We three had agreed to leave the army and return to London.
When I looked up from my muddy boot I found Grenville regarding me in stunned surprise. 'Forgive me, Lacey. I had no idea.' He drew a breath. 'I am honored that you told me this. I swear to you it will never cross my lips to another soul.'
I had no doubt that he would keep his silence. Grenville kept staring at me as though he thought me even more a wonder than he had before, until I grew irritated.
'You make too much of it,' I said, and turned to look out the window.
We said nothing more until we reached the well-bred house of the Beauchamps, Charlotte Morrison's cousins.
Chapter Twenty-Four
'I'm so pleased to see you again, Captain.' Mrs. Beauchamp shook my hand. 'Do you have news?'
'I'm happy to tell you, that Miss Morrison is alive and well. In Somerset.'
Eyes widened, brows rose. Mr. Beauchamp spluttered, 'Somerset?'
'Good heavens, why has she not written us?' his wife said at the same time. 'Did she return to her family's house?'
Grenville glanced at me. I hadn't told him what I'd intended to say, but he followed my lead. 'I saw her,' he said. 'She is safe. And married.'
Mrs. Beauchamp gaped. 'Married?'
'But why not write to us?' her husband demanded. 'Why disgrace herself by running away?'
'It doesn't matter,' Mrs. Beauchamp said. 'She is safe, thank God. Do you have her direction, Mr. Grenville? I must write to her and tell her that of course we forgive her. She must be worried that we'll be angry with her. No, we should make preparations to journey there and tell her ourselves.'
I held up my hands. 'I believe she doesn't yet want visitors. No doubt she'll write to you when she is ready.'
Mrs. Beauchamp lost her smile. 'I don't understand. We're her family.'
'That is all I know, madam. I myself care only that she is safe and well.'
Beauchamp's ruddy face held a mixture of relief and anger. 'I thank you for coming in person to tell us, Captain.' He held out his hand. 'It was good of you.'
'Yes.' Mrs. Beauchamp sounded subdued.
I shook both their hands. 'I bid you good afternoon.'
Grenville, who'd kept his composure well throughout the entire exchange, bowed and murmured his good- byes, though I could see him bursting to ask me questions.
Beauchamp followed us out. He waited until the footman had given us our hats and gloves, and he
