'I would tell you if you'll give me half a minute, Captain. He went to Hertfordshire.'
I stopped. 'Hertfordshire? Why?'
'Now I don't know, Captain. I'm only watching him to find out where he goes. Not why. That's your lookout.'
'Well, what is he doing there?'
'I don't know.' Pomeroy frowned. 'I pulled my men off him, soon as he went somewhere harmless. None of your lordships live in Hertfordshire. And I need my men in Islington. Someone's gent killed his wife-at least so his wife's sister says, but no one's found the wife's body. Not the first time the gent's murdered his wife, so this sister says. Not the same wife twice, you understand, but wife one and wife two. Either he is very clever, or the sister's for Bedlam.'
I could get nothing more helpful from him. I left Bow Street and returned to my rooms.
The cure for melancholia, or at least a method of staving it off awhile, was action. I acted. I wrote to John Spencer, asking to meet with him. I wrote to Eggleston in Oxfordshire, also requesting a meeting.
I then wrote Grenville to apprise him of what I had discovered. I had not spoken to him in some days, and he had not sent for me in his imperious way. I wondered what the devil he was doing, and at the same time was a bit relieved that I had not seen him and would not have to explain my current agitation.
I heard nothing from Louisa, and I sent no inquiry to her. If Lydia had wanted to see me, or if she had grown worse, Louisa would have informed me. Likewise I heard nothing from Brandon, from which I concluded Louisa had not yet returned to him or even sent word.
John Spencer replied by the next post that he'd see me. We met the next day in the same tavern we had before. He confirmed that his brother had gone to Hertfordshire to visit an old school friend, then I discussed Colonel Spinnet and my speculations with him.
He admitted that when he'd read Colonel Spinnet's diaries, he'd found references to Breckenridge wanting promotion, but he'd drawn no conclusion but that Breckenridge had been incompetent and annoying.
I asked Spencer if he would show me what he had found, and after regarding me sourly for a time, he took me to the rooms in Piccadilly he shared with his brother and fished out Spinnet's diaries.
I flipped through them eagerly. Breckenridge, Spinnet had written early in 1812, that ass, yearns to be a major. He is the sort who likes to strut about in braid and lace, and knows nothing of commanding or warfare. Old Nappy will not go away because Breckenridge waves his balls about. I have told Westin to not, for God's sake-for all our sake's-give him major. Such a thing would make a mockery of all other majors in the Army.
No doubt Breckenridge had not been pleased to hear this news.
It all fit now. Breckenridge and Eggleston had contrived between them to murder Colonel Spinnet and remove him from Breckenridge's road to promotion. Lydia's husband had known, and they had somehow persuaded him to take the blame when the deed came to light.
I thanked John Spencer, took a hackney back to Covent Garden market. As I emerged onto Russel Street, two large men closed on either side of me. Startled from my thoughts, I quickened my pace, but they kept with me. They steered me toward a finely appointed carriage, and when I turned, a third man had closed behind me.
I raged, but they had me penned in. I could not flee without a fight. James Denis had gotten wiser. I wondered if he would call in his favor today.
I would know soon enough. The three bullies more or less loaded me into the carriage, and there I found Denis waiting.
Chapter Nineteen
His gloved hands rested on his elegant cane and he looked me over with cold eyes.
'Well,' I said. 'I am here. What do you want?'
'As blunt as ever. To answer you just as bluntly, nothing. Not yet.'
The footmen closed the door, shutting me in the elegant, satin-lined box with the man I fervently despised. He was not very old-barely thirty if that, but he had already acquired more power than most dukes knew or understood.
'I have come to do you another good turn,' Denis went on.
'Can I stop you?'
Sometimes, he smiled at my sallies, but today, his face remained mirthless.
He dipped his kid-gloved fingers inside his coat and pulled out two papers, each folded and sealed.
'I have information here that could be of great help to you, Captain. I offer to share it.'
I eyed the crisp, folded sheets tucked between his gloved fingers. 'Why should you believe I will be interested?'
His expression did not change. 'I know.'
I shifted uneasily. 'For what price? I already agreed to what you asked for Mrs. Brandon.'
'The same price. You aid me when I need it.'
'You are keeping tally of favors?' I asked dryly. 'Favors in the debit column versus favors in the credit?'
His brow lifted the slightest bit. 'Exactly, Captain. You are perceptive. I told you before that I wanted to tame you, but that is not quite true. What I want is to own you utterly.'
I regarded him in silence. Outside, the daily life of Russel Street went on, the wagoners moving through to Covent Garden market, vendors crying their wares, street girls teasing passing gentlemen.
For years, I had given my life to the King's army, and I had given myself and my loyalty to a man I had admired more than any other. That man had at the last spit upon me, and the King's army had not done much better.
My freedom from both had been bitter. A man who could not give himself to another was useless and alone. But I at least wanted to choose who received my loyalty. James Denis did not deserve it.
'You need have no interest in me,' I tried. 'I care nothing for your business and what you get up to.'
His fingers twitched on his cane. 'That is not what I perceive. You dislike me and what I do and I foresee a time when you will try to stand against me. I cannot afford that.' He paused. 'You should take my precautions as a compliment. You at present are my most formidable enemy.'
I snorted. 'I am a half-crippled man with no fortune. I can hardly be a threat to you.'
'I disagree. But we digress.' He held out the first paper. 'This is the name of the house in which Lord Richard Eggleston has hidden himself.'
I scowled at the stiff edge of the paper hovering before me. 'That is no secret. Eggleston went to his country house in Oxfordshire.'
'He did not. You took the evasive word of his butler as fact. He is not in Oxfordshire. He has gone to visit a paramour. I have written here the name of the paramour and the house in which they now dwell in lovers' bliss.'
Denis's eyes were ice cold. He was handing me an answer, an important one. I had but to take it and know- and be obligated further to this man I reviled.
I think I hated him more at that moment than I had ever before.
In a swift movement, I jerked the paper from his fingers and broke the seal.
I had once remarked that Grenville had wasted half a sheet of expensive paper on a short letter. Denis had wasted one on one line-it listed a name, the name of a house, and the name of the county in which the house resided. Hertfordshire.
I stared at the words, dumbfounded. 'Dear God.'
Kenneth Spencer had gone there. And Pomeroy had sent no one to follow him, believing him to be traveling nowhere important. John Spencer had said his brother had gone to visit a school friend.
My pulse quickened. I looked from the paper to Denis, who looked, very slightly, satisfied.
I did not ask whether the information was accurate. I knew it was. Denis could uncover things with far more efficiency than any Bow Street Runner or exploring officer during the war.
He was holding out the second sheet of paper. I barely saw it, my head was so filled with implications of this new knowledge. One thing was certain-I had to go to Hertfordshire. Now.
