We divided the stack between us and sorted things out across the dining room table. Matthias and Bartholomew kept us in brandy and also brought in black coffee as rich as chocolate.
For the next several hours, we leafed through papers, passed ledgers back and forth, and discussed our findings. The Colonel Westin I found here had been as meticulous as the one I'd come to know in his private papers in Lydia's house. He or his man of business had kept strict accounts for everything: for the country house and the London house, for servants' wages and clothing, for food, for fuel, for horses, for his wife's clothing and jewelry.
My fingers felt a bit sticky as I turned over the pages describing Lydia's personal finances. These were none of my business, and yet, I desperately wanted to discover anything that would point away from her and to Eggleston, Breckenridge, or the elusive Connaught as her husband's murderers.
I found that Lydia was just as careful as her husband in the matter of finances. Her bills for her dressmaker, her glovemaker, her milliner, and her shoemaker were high, but not extravagant, and well within Colonel Westin's means. Likewise her household budget bore the marks of a woman who could spend wisely and still manage to live in elegance.
The Westins appeared, by all accounts, to have been a model couple of moderation, good taste, and financial sense.
Grenville sat back as the clock struck one. 'Well,' he said. 'We have learned that Westin had no heavy debts, gambling or otherwise. Pity.'
'Yes,' I answered, subdued. 'It seems that he led a blameless life.'
Grenville sighed and tossed down the sheet he'd been perusing. 'So why would he suddenly sacrifice this blameless life for Breckenridge, Eggleston, and Connaught?'
'He would sacrifice his family as well,' I remarked.
'Perhaps Breckenridge and Eggleston were instrumental in persuading Allandale to propose to the daughter. Then Allandale could look after both daughter and Mrs. Westin after Westin had been tried and executed.'
'Is Allandale such a catch?' I asked. The opinion I'd formed upon meeting him in Lydia's house had not been high.
Grenville thought a moment. 'I would not have chosen him for my own daughter, but yes, Geoffrey Allandale is, from what I have heard of him, a catch. He has money and he has connections and the beginnings of a political career. Everything a father could want for his daughter.'
What about a mother? I wondered. Lydia disliked Mr. Allandale. I read that in her tone when she spoke of him and in her face when she'd looked at him. And yet, she'd not opposed the match. Or perhaps she had, and had been overruled. I wondered if the daughter, Chloe, had been happy with the choice.
'Providing an excellent marriage for the daughter would fit,' Grenville speculated. 'Westin let his friends set up the marriage knowing he would go to the gallows. His daughter and wife would simply be absorbed into Allandale's family.'
I could sincerely hope not. Perhaps another reason Lydia had expressed relief at her husband's death was that she would no longer be at the mercy of Allandale. Westin had died technically a free and innocent man, and she would come into whatever money and property he had left her absolutely. His sudden death had saved her from the fate of living in Allandale's household.
'We should find a copy of the marriage settlement,' I said, 'before we draw a conclusion.'
'Agreed. But I cannot imagine what else it could be. Westin certainly was a man without vices…' He broke off, his dark eyes riveting to an entry on a ledger page. 'A moment. I spoke too soon. This is interesting.'
Nothing else had been all night. I waited impatiently.
'I am not certain whether this counts as a vice,' Grenville said. 'But at one time in his life, our Colonel Westin was in the habit of purchasing cantharides.' He sat back and looked at me.
'Spanish fly?' I asked, surprised.
'On more than one occasion. But this was a long time ago. 1798, to be precise.' He turned back a page. 'No, wait, a few years before that as well.'
'Anything more recent?'
Grenville flipped forward through the book. I took up the other ledger and gently turned its pages. We had been looking for things of recent memory, but perhaps we ought to examine the man's deep past as well.
'I looks as though he gave it up,' Grenville said presently.
I frowned. 'Why on earth would a man married to Lydia Westin need an aphrodisiac?'
Grenville shot me a thoughtful look. 'Some take it for the stimulation. It adds a spice, shall we say, to the performance. Though one must have a care not to poison oneself with it.'
I leafed through the ledger, baffled. Westin did not seem the type of man to try something as dangerous as Spanish fly simply for the adventure of it. Especially in light of Lydia's assertion that her husband had disliked pleasures of the flesh. Were I married to Lydia Westin, I certainly would not need a dose of Spanish fly to convince myself to take her to bed.
I searched for another explanation. 'I have heard that it is sometimes used for the skin, as well.' I touched an entry. 'This ledger shows he was seeing a doctor for an unnamed affliction in the past. Perhaps he used the cantharides for that.'
'Possibly. But I hardly believe B and E would convince Westin to go to the gallows to keep the secret of a skin condition.'
I did not either, but I needed something. 'He made payments to this Dr. Barton for a number of years.'
Grenville suddenly came alert. 'Barton? Jules Barton? Of Bedford Square?'
'Yes. Why?'
He gave me a curious look. 'There is only one reason a gentleman consults Dr. Barton of Bedford Square.' He watched me as though I should know damn well why without being told.
'I have never heard of the man.'
His eyes flickered. 'Hmm. Well, I doubt any gentleman would confide to you he'd made a visit to Dr. Barton. At least not in another's hearing.'
'Why? Who the devil is he?'
Grenville pressed his fingertips together. 'One consults Dr. Barton when… Well, to put it delicately, one consults him-discreetly-when one cannot make one's soldier stand to attention.'
My brows rose. Lydia's faint smile, her rueful look when she explained why she doubted her husband had a mistress, became suddenly clear. 'So,' I said, 'you believe Westin was not so much unattracted by pleasures of the flesh as unable to enjoy them.'
'That would explain the Spanish fly,' Grenville said. 'Perhaps Dr. Barton suggested it. Poor beggar. To be married to such a lovely woman, and not be able to- '
'They had a child,' I pointed out. 'Miss Westin is of marriageable age now, so could well have been conceived near to 1798. Perhaps he was cured.'
Grenville seemed determined to throw cold water on everything. 'One child. A girl. Most gentlemen would keep trying until his wife produced a son. Did he continue to see the doctor after her birth?'
I examined the page of payments to Dr. Barton. Several were dated a mere nine years previously, shortly before the Peninsular campaign began. 'Yes,' I answered.
'A lucky shot, then. Or…' Grenville paused. 'This is not a nice speculation, but perhaps…' Again he hesitated. 'Perhaps Miss Westin is not Westin's daughter at all.'
Silence fell. I traced a pattern on the ledger page. My finger shook once. 'What are you suggesting?'
'Something sordid and vulgar, I am sorry to say. But we are looking for reasons that Breckenridge, Eggleston, and Connaught might have blackmailed Colonel Westin.'
'If we were speaking of Lady Breckenridge,' I said, keeping my voice quiet, 'I might agree with you. But Mrs. Westin does not seem the type to have a sordid affair and then force her husband to accept her child. I do not believe it is in her character.'
'I know.' He studied me for a time. 'But perhaps when she was young, and wanted a child, and her husband could not give it to her..'
'She sought it elsewhere?' My fingers tightened on the ledger. 'Colonel Westin's letters are filled with great affection for his daughter,' I pointed out. 'Would he have doted on her if she were another man's child?'
Grenville shrugged. 'We live in odd times, Lacey. I know men who grew up in nurseries with half-brothers and
