drink.'
I raised Brandon's limp head. His hair was graying more than I'd noticed before, white strands mixing with the black. He'd be completely gray in another few years.
Grenville guided the goblet to Brandon's lips and poured a few drops of liquid inside. For a moment, Brandon lay unmoving, then his body spasmed weakly, and he coughed. Ruthlessly, Grenville poured more brandy into his mouth. Brandon coughed again, harder, then his eyelids moved and he groaned.
His light blue eyes remained blank for a moment, then his gaze fixed on me, and his pupils widened.
'Oh hell,' he said. His voice was little more than a croak. 'It's you.'
Chapter Twenty-one
I feared John Spencer would kill Eggleston before the constable arrived. The young man was beside himself with grief. I guessed correctly that he had followed Grenville's carriage here to Hertfordshire, as he confirmed. When I had left him earlier that day, excited about Spinnet's letter and my conclusions, he had grown suspicious of me and followed.
Upon arriving at this house, he had heard the noises inside, walked around the house to see if he could discover another way in, and had found his brother lying dead in the garden.
'You killed him, you dung-eating son of a bitch,' he said.
Eggleston shook his head hard. 'No! I killed no one. I swear to you. Jack did it. He said Mr. Spencer was spying upon us. And he was.'
We had removed Jack's bloody body to a shed outside, and laid Kenneth Spencer more reverently on the grass.
Brandon lay on his back on the hearth rug in the sitting room. One of his legs had broken. My own leg ached and throbbed, but I had not broken it, as I'd feared. I'd simply wrenched and strained the muscles. I often forgot I could no longer run about with impunity. I sat now in a chair near Brandon, resting my foot on a stool. It did not help.
We had bound Eggleston's hands with rope found in the shed and sat him on a chair. Grenville held a loaded pistol loosely in his hands. He, too, was angry enough to use it.
'I for one will be happy to see you hang,' Grenville said. 'For my footman, if nothing else.'
Eggleston's round eyes went rounder still. 'I did not shoot him! I swear to you. It was Jack.'
'You'll hang for Westin's murder,' I said. 'Or Spinnet's. Or Captain Spencer's. Which would you like?'
Grenville shot me a puzzled look. 'Westin?'
My feelings of loyalty to Lydia had dimmed, and I decided it was time for truth. 'He was murdered. Stabbed in the neck. His wife pretended he'd died accidentally, because she feared the savagery of the newspapers.'
Grenville's eyes widened. 'Good lord. You do know how to keep secrets, Lacey.'
'He is ever the champion of the ladies,' Brandon said dryly from the floor.
'I do not understand this,' John Spencer barked. 'He murdered Colonel Westin?'
'Yes,' I said. I eased my leg to a slightly less painful position, gritting my teeth as I did so. 'He learned that Colonel Westin had made an appointment with you and your brother, and feared that Westin would tell you the entire truth-how he and Breckenridge had conspired to murder Colonel Spinnet back in 1812 and make it look as though he had died in the rioting at Badajoz.' I looked at Eggleston. 'Captain Spencer saw you shoot Spinnet deliberately, did he not? He was so horrified, he ran to try to stop you. So he died as well.'
Eggleston stared. 'How do you know this? Westin did not tell anyone! He swore to us.'
'He kept his word,' I said. 'Of course, you and Breckenridge made certain of that to the last. You and he together went to see Westin the day he died, early in the morning, probably, say when you would be returning from a gaming hell and Breckenridge would be up for his early ride. You either made an appointment with Westin, or he saw you approach, but he must have let you in himself, in his dressing gown, and taken you quietly upstairs.'
I gave him an inquiring look. Eggleston only stared.
'You must have argued with him long,' I continued. 'Perhaps he agreed to keep silent, perhaps he did not. You must have known some secret Westin desperately did not want revealed, but perhaps Westin had decided he would rather humiliate himself then let you get away with murder. I imagine Breckenridge was not satisfied, in any event. I think it was he who actually murdered Colonel Westin. Just as he murdered Spinnet at Badajoz, and shot Captain Spencer.'
Eggleston nodded readily. 'He did. He killed Spinnet because he knew Spinnet would forever block his way to promotion.'
I gave him a hard look. 'The plan was yours. It smacks of the kind of sneaking subterfuge you would dream of. You advised him not to challenge Spinnet directly, oh no. Instead, take away a good man's life and hide it in the chaos of the destruction around you. What was one more death in the Peninsula campaign, after all?'
Eggleston put his hands to his face. 'It was not like that. We saw an opportunity. That is all.'
'Which you urged Breckenridge to take. Did you urge him on to kill Westin?'
'No, no. Breckenridge decided that himself. Westin refused to listen to us. He vowed he would reveal all. When he turned away, Breckenridge took out a stiletto and pressed it right into Westin's neck. He died at once. Went down in a heap.'
'So,' I continued. 'You tucked him up in bed, rejoicing that so little blood had been shed to give things away, and let yourself out of the house.'
Eggleston's throat worked. 'Yes. That was it.'
I wanted to rise from the chair and kick him, but I was too tired. My melancholia danced just beyond my vision.
'The death of Westin must have upset you greatly,' I said. 'Soldiers dying at Badajoz was one thing, but I think you realized after Westin's death that Breckenridge was a cold-blooded killer. You were a witness; who knew when he might turn on you? So you sought the comfort of your lover. Jack probably advised you to leave everything to him.' I paused. 'He killed Breckenridge, did he not?'
'He did,' Eggleston whispered. 'To protect me.'
The knowledge that I had been right all along comforted me little. 'Sharp must have killed Breckenridge somewhere in the garden. Perhaps you had not known he would do it right then. You decided it best to make his death seem an accident, a riding accident-Breckenridge was so fond of rides at ungodly hours of the morning. I doubt you were prepared to handle the body, so Sharp did it all, am I right? He must have, because you would not have made the mistakes he did. He saddled Breckenridge's horse, using the saddle I'd left, not realizing that a cavalryman who took the trouble to travel with his own saddle would certainly use it. He put my coat on Breckenridge's body…' I paused. 'I confess, I do not know why he should, or why Breckenridge was in shirtsleeves at all.'
Eggleston flinched. 'They were boxing. In the garden. Sharp offered to show Breckenridge exactly how he'd been felled by that farmer's lad. Breckenridge took off his coat.' He swallowed. 'I could not find it in the dark.'
Grenville sucked in a breath. 'Good lord. So Sharp must have found Lacey's coat and put it on him. He reasoned one gentleman's coat was as good as another.'
'I thought it so amusing,' Eggleston said. 'Breckenridge was so careful about his clothes. And to be caught dead in a shabby coat several years out of date… ' He wheezed a little and tears leaked from his eyes. 'I laughed so.'
I did not find it in the least amusing. The sniveling little twit deserved to have John Spencer lay him out.
Grenville still looked puzzled. 'But Major Connaught,' he said. 'He died peacefully. Or seemed to.'
Eggleston shook his head fervently. 'We had nothing to do with that. He really did die in his sleep. That was a bit of luck.' He eyed us with the smugness of one who was at least innocent of something.
'No,' I corrected softly. 'Your luck changed when he died. His death renewed my interest in deciphering the truth. And I found it. Colonel Spinnet was the key.'
John Spencer cleared his throat. His eyes were red with grief, his hair tangled where he'd raked it. 'What about my brother? Why did you kill him?'
Eggleston met his gaze with something like defiance. 'He was spying on us,' he repeated.
