Glass House yet.'
I felt pleased he thought so, but I wished I shared his optimism. James Denis was powerful and did not relinquish things easily.
Sir Montague and I took leave of each other then, he promising to keep me informed of what he did regarding The Glass House. He tipped his hat and strolled away, his walking stick tapping the pavement in a cheerful staccato.
I turned away, thinking to make for a hackney stand and home, and found my path blocked by the large bulk of Bartholomew.
'Hullo, sir. Mr. Grenville says, will you please join him for a meal at home. He wants you to hear my news.' Bartholomew winked. 'And I have a lot of it, sir.'
Chapter Ten
Indeed, Bartholomew looked almost ready to burst. But he manfully held it in and helped me inside Grenville's carriage, slamming the door and leaving me alone with Grenville.
The carriage, warm and smelling of heated coal, rolled away even before I'd seated myself. Grenville gave me the barest nod then looked out of the window, pretending interest in the black landaus, hackneys, and carriages scraping by us.
He was displeased with me, and I had a good idea why. I merely said, 'Thank you for the invitation to dine. I look forward to hearing what Bartholomew has to say.'
Grenville finally turned from the window and looked me up and down, brows together. 'For God's sake, Lacey, why did you give me that bank draft?'
I knew he'd become high-handed about the three hundred guineas, and I was not about to let him.
'To replace what you gave Kensington at The Glass House.' I said. 'Do not dare to try to return it to me.'
'You know I cannot accept it. I paid that money to assist with the investigation. And if it helped take that little girl out of The Glass House, it was worth it.'
'Perhaps,' I said. 'But I have no wish to be in debt to you. I've paid the debt, and that is the end of the matter.'
Grenville glared at me. 'You are bloody stubborn and too damned proud, Lacey.'
'I know that. Plenty have been happy to tell me so.'
We regarded each other steadily, he in his impeccably tailored suit not a week old, me in my worn clothing topped with a frock coat that had been his gift to me last September. I appreciated all Grenville had done for me, but I'd come to know that he rather liked to own people, and he used his forceful generosity to do so.
'I don't want to quarrel over this, Lacey,' Grenville said.
'Than accept the money and have done.'
He stared at me for another angry moment then stiffly changed the subject, but I knew he'd open the argument again when he could.
'Mrs. Chapman's funeral is today,' he said. 'Barbury sent me word.'
'The coroner has released her body, then,' I said. 'I would like to attend. It will be interesting to see who appears.'
Grenville said he'd come with me, and we fell into strained silence. Fortunately, the drive to Grosvenor Street was short.
Matthias let us out before Grenville's house and Bartholomew ushered us inside. Not long after that, I sat in Grenville's dining room eating the fine repast his chef, Anton, had created for us. Grenville spoke lightly on neutral topics-Anton took offense if we discussed anything that pulled too much attention from his cooking.
When we'd finished, Grenville bade Bartholomew and Matthias sit with us and share their findings. The two big lads cleared the table, served us port, and sat down to slurp glasses of bitter and rest their elbows on the table in a comfortable manner that was in no way impudent.
Bartholomew pulled a paper out of his pocket, words on it written in careful capitals, and handed it to Grenville.
'Mr. Inglethorpe's cook is a relation of my aunt's husband,' he said. 'She's quite chatty-the cook, I mean. So was Mr. Inglethorpe's footman. I also talked to some of the slaveys of the men who were at Inglethorpe's Wednesday afternoon. I wrote it all down, so I wouldn't forget.'
'Excellently done,' Grenville said, smoothing the paper on the table. 'Let us begin with Robert Yardley. Who said today he remembered the walking stick but not whether anyone took it. Most helpful of him.'
Bartholomew took a drink of ale. 'Mr. Yardley is a bachelor, sir. Lives in Brook Street. Has only one footman, who is a country oaf in satin.'
'Would Yardley be likely to stab Inglethorpe through the heart with a sword?' I asked.
Bartholomew rubbed his nose. 'Wouldn’t think so, sir. Not much wherewithal, I'd say. According to his footman, he likes a soft chair and a footstool, and his cup and saucer handed to him even when it's on the table right next to him. Mr. Yardley was at home yesterday afternoon, so his footman says, at the time in question.'
'Unless the footman is lying for him,' Grenville said. 'Now, what about Mr. Archibald Price-Davies-who saw nothing, knows nothing? Another helpful gentleman.'
'Friend of Mr. Yardley,' Bartholomew said promptly. 'Likes horses, don't talk of much else.' He chuckled. 'Got Mr. Grenville into a corner one afternoon and plagued him about nearly every horse in London, wanting his opinion and such.'
Grenville grimaced. 'I remember.'
'So, a nuisance full of his own opinion,' I said. 'But a murderer?'
'Could not say, sir. Maybe if he and Mr. Inglethorpe disagreed about a horse.'
'An unlikely motive for murder,' I said. 'Although any of them could have exchanged heated words with the man and killed him in a fit of rage.'
'Mr. Price-Davies was at Tattersall's, yesterday, all day,' Matthias said. 'If you can believe his groom.'
'Very convenient,' Grenville said. 'Next is Lord Clarence Dudley. I know him but only in a vague way. Different schools.'
'Marquess of Ackerley's youngest brother,' Bartholomew said. 'Would not do anything to mar his manicure, I would say. And I hear he is an unnatural.'
Grenville and I exchanged a glance. So had Inglethorpe been. Grenville said, 'At the inquest, Dudley claimed to have been at home in bed until three.'
'Certainly he was,' Bartholomew answered, and chuckled. 'His valet says with the next gent on your list.'
Grenville raised his brows, consulted the paper. 'Arthur Dunstan. Truly?'
'Mr. Dunstan goes about everywhere with this Lord Clarence Dudley. If you see what I mean, sir.'
'No wonder they both mumbled a bit about where they'd been,' Grenville said.
'Last gent I asked about is Mr. Carleton Pauling, MP,' Bartholomew said.
'I know him a bit better than the others,' Grenville said. 'But I haven't the remotest idea whether he would kill Inglethorpe or why.'
'He is a radical, sir, at least that's what everyone says,' Bartholomew said. 'I suppose a radical could be a murderer. Except he was in Parliament that afternoon. Plenty of people saw him there.'
'Yes, so he said at the inquest,' Grenville said.
A drop of ink had puddled on the C of Mr. Carleton Pauling. 'So, they each have alibis,' I said, 'confirmed by their servants. Unless one of them is lying and has convinced their servants to lie for them.'
'So where does that leave us?' Bartholomew asked after another slurp of ale.
'Nowhere,' I said. 'At least not yet. Bartholomew, you have done very well. Thank you. Could you and Matthias prevail again upon these gentlemen's slaveys and discover for certain whether any of the gentlemen or their servants picked up my walking stick? And whether any were acquainted with Mrs. Chapman?'
Bartholomew nodded. Matthias looked eager too, ready to render me assistance. To them, this was
