I wondered why Chapman had married Peaches and how she'd had persuaded him to. Peaches had been a lovely young woman; I could imagine her convincing someone like me to marry her-someone with nothing to lose- but a barrister who hoped one day to take silk?
Lady Breckenridge and Thompson were correct; most actresses were considered common, not respectable enough for marriage. It did happen, from time to time, that aristocrats married actresses, and happily so, but aristocrats got away with much. Perhaps Peaches had made Chapman believe she'd be a model wife.
'Did they go to Inglethorpe's often?' I asked. I assumed Lady Breckenridge had been there before-she’d seemed familiar with the gas and how to take it. Mrs. Danbury, on the other hand, had not. She, like me, had been a novice.
'Good heavens, yes. Anything novel or exciting, Mrs. Chapman could not rest until she tried it. I believe she was not quite right in the head, if you ask me.' Lady Breckenridge gave me a decided look. 'She was always badgering Barbury to let her do things that were risky and dangerous. If he denied her, she pouted and fussed until he promised she could do as she pleased. Curricle races to Brighton, bloody fool things like that.'
I wondered how Peaches had fared with Mr. Chapman, a man described by his pupil as deadly dull. For a young lady who craved excitement, living with Chapman must have been misery.
Of course, if Gower were to be believed, Peaches rarely saw her husband. She’d have had plenty of opportunity for excitement without him.
I had been a bit wild and reckless in my youth, and frankly, stupid, but I had always been able to stop myself when necessary. There were people, I had learned, who could not, who always had to have something interesting or, as Lady Breckenridge said, dangerous, in their lives. Perhaps to remind themselves that they were alive? Their humors were unbalanced in that direction, I believed, as mine were toward melancholia, and they could not help themselves. I wondered if Peaches had been that sort of person.
'What is your interest, Captain?' Lady Breckenridge asked, her eyes bright. 'You could not have been Mrs. Chapman's lover. She liked only men of wealth.'
I let the remark pass, because it was the truth, even if rudely put.
I thought again of Peaches lying on the shore of the Thames, small, pretty, alone. She'd sought danger, and danger had found her.
'She did not deserve what was done to her,' I said. 'She was too young for that. Young and helpless.'
Lady Breckenridge snorted. 'From what I knew of her, Mrs. Chapman was never helpless.'
'She was certainly helpless against whoever killed her.'
Lady Breckenridge lost her smile. I expected a sharp or sardonic retort from her, but she turned to look out of the window. I knew she could see only her reflection in the dark glass, because I saw it too, a gaze pensive under drawn brows.
'Did you attend the gathering at Inglethorpe's on Monday?' I asked her.
'I did.' She turned from the window again, her expression composed. 'If you mean to ask me whether Mrs. Chapman attended as well, the answer is yes, she did.'
'With Lord Barbury?'
'Not in the least. She arrived alone and went away alone.'
'Do you remember what time she left?'
'Not much past four. She seemed in a hurry.'
Peaches must have gone straight from Inglethorpe’s to meet her killer. 'Did she leave by hackney or private coach?'
'I am afraid I did not notice. I was not much interested in Mrs. Chapman. I was just pleased she'd departed.'
'A bit early.'
Lady Breckenridge shrugged. 'She had her take of the gas, and off she went.'
'Does Inglethorpe's gatherings always begin at four?'
'Always. A man of regular habits, is Mr. Inglethorpe.'
Regular habits and unnatural appetites. I wondered whether Inglethorpe himself had played a part in Mrs. Chapman's death. A woman who liked danger, a man who provided it for her in the form of his magical gas.
We had been rolling through Mayfair as I asked questions and listened to her answers. 'Your coachman can let me down anywhere,' I said. 'I did not mean to take advantage of you.'
'Nonsense, this is a nasty rain. I will take you where you like.'
'Grenville's then,' I said. 'In Grosvenor Street. It is not far.'
Lady Breckenridge tapped on the roof and gave the direction to her coachman. We rode the rest of the way in silence, she watching me with frank curiosity. We did not exchange the small pleasantries that I might with any other lady-Mrs. Danbury, for example. Lady Breckenridge had made it known the first time we'd met what she thought of small pleasantries.
She did not speak until the landau was drawing to a halt before Grenville's house. 'I have a box at Covent Garden,' she said. 'Quite a fine one.' She drew a silver card case from her reticule and extracted a cream-colored card. 'Giving this to a footman at the theatre door will allow you up to it, any time you please.'
I studied the card held between her slim, gloved fingers. 'I do not go much to the theatre,' I said.
'But you might. And you might want to ask me another time about a murder.'
She smiled, but the lines about her eyes were tense. I realized, in some surprise, that if I refused to take the card, I would hurt her feelings.
I reached for it, glanced once at the name inscribed on it, and tucked it into my pocket. Lady Breckenridge’s expression did not change.
I bade her goodnight and descended before Grenville’s plain-faced mansion. As the landau rolled away, I saw Lady Breckenridge looking out of its window at me. She caught my eye, looked languidly away, and the landau moved on.
Grenville was home, in his dressing room. Matthias let me in, but neither Grenville nor his man Gautier offered greeting while they went through the very important process of tying Grenville's cravat.
Matthias brought me a glass of brandy while I waited. Grenville's toilette was always elaborate and could take an hour or more if he were preparing for a sufficiently important occasion.
As I sipped the brandy I felt a sudden chill. I rubbed my arms and took another drink of brandy, feeling the beginnings of nausea.
Another thing I felt was pain. The concoction was wearing off, and my leg began to throb with a vengeance. I gritted my teeth and drank deeply of brandy.
When Grenville finished, I rose to leave with him, and realized the height of my folly. My leg hurt like fire, and I had left my walking stick behind at Inglethorpe's.
Matthias offered to run and fetch it for me. Grenville forestalled him, somewhat crossly, and bade him fetch one of his own. I accepted with neither protest nor thanks, uncertain of Grenville's mood.
Not until we were inside his opulent coach, alone, did I open the subject I sensed he did not want to discuss. 'What have you done with Marianne?' I asked.
Grenville shot me an angry look. 'Do not worry, she is well. I have a house in Clarges Street. She is reclining there in the lap of luxury with plenty of sweetmeats to eat.'
'She must be pleased.' Marianne liked her comforts.
'Not really. She let me know what she thought of my high-handedness. But dear God, Lacey.' His expression turned troubled. 'I found her in your rooms, eating the leavings of your breakfast.'
'I told her she might have the bread.'
Grenville’s diamond cravat pin flashed as he turned his head. 'She was shaking with hunger. If you had seen her… She was furious that I'd caught her eating like a starved mongrel. I cannot understand it. I've tried to help her, and yet, my charity seems to do no good.'
'Marianne takes what help she likes and disdains the rest,' I said. 'That is why I leave my door unlocked. She pretends to put one over on me.'
'Why the devil does she accept your charity and not mine?'
I shrugged, having no idea. 'She has her own code of right and wrong.'
'You are good to her, and good to worry about her. I have put her in a house where she might eat well and
