I sat down on the chair behind me. So the killer had already struck again. I had asked Pomeroy to tell me if John Spencer made a move, and I'd heard nothing. I fumed in frustration and regret. 'You spoke to the valet?'
Leland shook his head. 'That is what the valet said at the inquest. Father had it from the magistrate.'
'The inquest was already held? When?'
'Last week. By the time father found out what happened, Major Connaught had already been buried. Father knows the magistrate in that part of Sussex. The magistrate says the valet says Major Connaught was not feeling well one night. He went to bed, and sometime in the night, he died.'
Travers looked at me. 'The verdict was not murder, if that worries you.'
Surprised me, rather. But then Breckenridge's death had been put down to an accident. Connaught might have died naturally, but I was unprepared to believe it. Of the four officers who'd known the truth about the death of Captain Spencer, only one remained alive.
One other man had known, too-Colonel Spinnet-and he had been killed along with Captain Spencer at Badajoz. I rested my head in my hands. If only the dead could speak.
I jumped to my feet before that thought fully formed. The dead could speak. The murderer had forgotten that.
Leland and his friend were staring at me in concern. I snatched up my hat and walking stick. 'Come with me,' I said.
They followed me in curiosity. Leland's coach waited nearby in Russel Street, and I commandeered it. Leland did not seem to mind. I directed his coachman to Mount Street and the home of Lord Richard Eggleston.
'Why are we going there?' Leland asked as we rattled toward Mayfair. 'Do you think Eggleston will be murdered, like Lord Breckenridge?'
'Anything is possible,' I answered, then I kept silent for the rest of the journey.
Lord Richard Eggleston's front hall was narrow and shadowy. Little thought had been given to decoration, and the walnut paneling and heavy-legged furniture of the last century darkened it still further. The butler who answered my knock looked like a shadow himself, thin and drawn and gray-faced.
'I regret to say that his lordship is not at home,' he said. 'He has gone to the country.'
'His doorknocker is here,' I said, motioning to the shiny doorknocker on the black painted door. Only when a family left Town did the staff remove the doorknocker to show that the inhabitants were not in residence.
'Her ladyship is still here, sir. But I regret that she is not at home, as well.'
Doubtless she was upstairs and still in bed. Not that I wanted to speak to the spoiled child.
'Is Lord Richard in Sussex, by chance?'
The butler's eyebrows climbed. Sussex, they said, as though horrified at such a gaffe. 'His lordship's country house is in Oxfordshire.'
In the opposite direction. But my elusive murderer had managed with ease to go to Sussex and visit with Major Connaught. He might manage Oxfordshire as easily.
'Excellent,' I said. 'I will write him there. If he returns, please have him look me up.' I thrust a card at the butler, which he took with another disdainful rise of brows.
We retreated, and he closed the door on us. Far above a curtain moved. Another servant looked out, perhaps, or else Lady Richard peered down to see who had knocked. We apparently were not fascinating, because the curtain dropped almost at once.
'May I take charge of your conveyance one more time, Mr. Derwent?' I asked in the act of scrambling aboard.
'Of course.' Leland climbed happily in after me. Travers followed, curious but much more contained than the pup-like Leland.
We did not go far, only around the corner to South Audley Street and the house of the late Lord Breckenridge.
This hall was much less shadowy-in fact, anything from the past had been ripped away and the house redone in the utmost modernity. The butler who answered our knock was much younger and looked a bit harried.
He began his 'I regret- ' speech, but I pushed a card into his hand.
'If Lady Breckenridge truly is at home, please let her know that Captain Lacey requests a moment of her time.'
The butler looked doubtful, but left us in a small, cold, square reception room and reported to his lady. Ten minutes later, we followed the butler upstairs to a sitting room, where Lady Breckenridge awaited us.
She wore mourning, as did Lydia Westin, but her gown showed off her plump bosom and arms, and its long skirt, falling in a graceful line to the floor, clung to her long legs. Otherwise, she looked much the same as she had in Kent-cool blue eyes filled with slight disdain, hair curled and pinned under a lace cap. The only thing missing was the cigarillo.
'Good evening, Captain,' she said. 'Did you call to convey your further condolences?'
Her gaze flicked to Leland and Mr. Travers. I had worried a bit about bringing the innocent Leland into this woman's presence, but Leland had insisted on not being left behind. He regarded Lady Breckenridge with polite indifference.
I introduced the two young men. Lady Breckenridge looked them over, frowned slightly, and returned her full attention to me.
'I called to inquire about your husband's papers,' I said. 'Do you still have them?'
'How flattering you are, Captain. My health is quite well, thank you.'
I inclined my head. 'I beg your pardon, my lady. I am anxious to review his letters or journals, or anything you will let me see. They might help me unravel who murdered him.'
Her brows arched. 'His horse murdered him.'
I knew differently. I had suspected; now I knew. 'If his papers no longer exist, then I apologize for my intrusion. But if they do, may I persuade you to let me see them?'
She made a show of considering. Lady Breckenridge owed me nothing, and in Kent, I had insulted her greatly. I probably had not hidden my disgust well when I'd walked in and found her in my bed. Also I had not yet paid her the five guineas she'd claimed she'd won at billiards. I'd written her a vowel for it, and no doubt she'd call in the note soon.
'Very well, Captain,' she said at length. 'If my husband's private papers are still in the house, they will be in his study. I will have Barnstable escort you.'
I nodded my thanks. I doubted she'd gone through his papers herself. She'd seemed singularly uninterested in anything involving the late Lord Breckenridge.
A small smile hovered around her mouth. 'While you read them, perhaps Mr.-Derwent, was it? can remain here and speak with me.'
I glanced at her sharply. Her smile was all innocence, but her eyes said ha, that's got you, Captain.
I turned to Leland. He managed to look polite, but I sensed the acute disappointment that he would not accompany me. Solving a murder with me far outweighed the young man's desire to speak to widows ten years his senior.
I made my decision and hoped his father would forgive me. 'Of course. Mr. Derwent would be happy to keep you company.'
Leland bowed and responded politely that yes, he would. A more blatant lie I had not heard in a long while.
Lady Breckenridge rang the bell and the harried butler returned. At her instruction, the man led me and Travers down a flight of stairs and opened the door of a small study that overlooked a minuscule patch of garden.
The butler unlocked the desk. 'His lordship kept his papers in here, sir. His man of business has not yet sorted through them.'
'We will remove nothing, I promise,' I said. My fingers twitched, itching to begin. 'Thank you.'
I seated myself when he departed, opened the drawers, and began to pull out their contents. I found stacks of letters and documents that had to do with properties and investments, instructions to Breckenridge's staff and stewards, and correspondence with friends and colleagues.
Travers looked at the piles in dismay. 'Good lord, are you going to read all that?'
'I hope I do not have to,' I said, beginning to sort things.
