The Glass House

that naked truth.

I was still there when Bartholomew came to fetch me for the supper with Grenville and Lord Barbury. Bartholomew informed me worriedly that Grenville's carriage had called for me, and I'd be late if I did not leave.

I did not much care anymore, but I sighed, got to my feet, and let Bartholomew lead me out.

The world was still dripping and gray when I arrived in Mayfair and Grenville's. We supped again in his ostentatious dining room at a table meant for a dozen. This evening, only three of us sat here, Grenville at the head of the table, I to his left, and his guest, Lord Barbury, to his right.

As I'd noted at the funeral, Barbury had aged since Grenville's soiree, his face thin and wan. He wore three rings, large and loose on his bony fingers.

As I pretended to eat, I grew annoyed again at Louisa for choosing this of all evenings to tell me to go to the devil. Grenville's chef Anton was the finest cook in the land, but I could barely taste his food.

I sat slightly removed from the luxury I'd been invited to partake in, attempting to keep my mind on the conversation. Grenville was talking to Barbury about inconsequential things, and it was damned hard to concentrate. Why could not Louisa have left the task for another day?

I sipped from the heavy, cut-crystal glass and tried to pay attention. The table's centerpiece was a small, black stone obelisk, its base covered with Egyptian picture writing. I knew full well this had come straight from Egypt, not from a shop on the Strand that specialized in Egyptian-style objets d'art.

I idly traced the hieroglyphs as he and Lord Barbury murmured about some scandal at White's. I wondered what the writing said. French and English scholars were busily working to translate it based on finds they had brought back from Napoleon's somewhat disastrous campaign in Egypt. They had already discovered that the little pictures were representations of sounds rather than actual pictures, a writing like Greek or Chinese. I wondered if those scholars, with their heads down in their texts, had even noticed that the war was over.

I came out of my reverie to find the table being cleared of the final course, a chilled sorbet that I'd barely touched, and Grenville turning to our purpose.

He bade me report on what I had found at The Glass House, and I roused myself enough to tell them of the attic room and my conversations with Kensington. I had given Lord Barbury his letters upon my arrival, plus the one that Peaches had begun to him. He'd looked at them with great sadness.

When I finished, Barbury declared, 'Kensington is a brute. He always has been.'

'He claimed that he brought about Mrs. Chapman's start on the stage,' I said. 'Can we assume that he was more than just her mentor?'

Barbury shook his head. 'She never explained about him fully. If you wish to ask me whether Kensington had ever been Peaches' lover, I do not know. She never told me. I suppose he must have been.'

'How did he react when she married Chapman?' I asked.

Barbury studied his port. 'He tried to stop her. God help me, so did I. I wanted to keep her to myself.'

'You could have married her,' I said.

Barbury looked up, flushed. 'I know that. I did not for many reasons, none of which seem important now. Yes, I realize that if I had defied convention and married her, she would be alive today.'

He closed his mouth with a snap. I was angry enough to be pleased he felt remorse. I had become irritated with Lord Barbury when I'd stood in the room Peaches had inhabited. He'd had a treasure and not realized it. He'd had a chance to have what I'd thrown away, and he'd carelessly tossed it aside.

'At the risk of being indelicate,' Grenville said, 'why did Mrs. Chapman continue to live with Kensington after she met you? Is it not usual to find a ladybird a house of her own?'

Barbury nodded, not looking offended. 'I did find her a house, but she told me she preferred living where she did, at The Glass House. I cannot imagine why.'

Because Peaches had not wanted to be caged, I realized. Like Marianne, who would rather live in poverty in the cheap rooms above a bakeshop than in a gilded cage provided by Lucius Grenville. Peaches must have had a freedom to come and go at The Glass House that she knew she'd not have with Lord Barbury. I remembered thinking that the attic room had not felt like a prison; Peaches had stayed there by choice, and she'd kept the key herself.

The fact of the key made me wonder anew about the relationship between Peaches and Mr. Kensington. Exactly who'd had a hold over whom?

'I read the letter she wrote to you,' I told Lord Barbury. 'Mrs. Chapman sounded excited about deceiving her husband into thinking she would be in Sussex, but she did not elaborate upon the deception. Did she tell you her plans?'

Barbury shook his head. 'She sent me a message on Sunday, asking me to come to The Glass House. When I arrived, she told me that she'd tricked her husband into letting her leave for a fortnight. I was pleased. She begged for us to attend Inglethorpe's gathering the next day, but I said I could not.' He drew a sharp breath. 'I'd already set an appointment to meet Alvanley at White's to talk about a horse I wanted to buy from him. And then I planned to attend Mr. Grenville's soiree. I told her I'd meet her after that. I thought- ' Barbury broke off, pressing his hand to his eyes. 'I thought we'd have plenty of time.'

Grenville tactfully sipped port, and I studied the hieroglyphs again.

Once Barbary had recovered himself a bit, I asked him, 'Did Mrs. Chapman speak of planning to meet anyone else for any reason that day? At The Glass House, or elsewhere?'

Barbury shook his head again, his eyes moist. 'No. She chattered on as usual but of nothing significant. She did not mention anyone else.'

I traced a hieroglyph that looked like a horned snake. 'She wanted to go to Inglethorpe's, you say. Do you know why? Did she mention someone she wanted to speak to there?'

'No. I tell you, she said nothing. She enjoyed Inglethorpe's laughing gas, that is all.'

'Did she ever speak much to, or about, the other gentlemen who went there?' I named the five who had attended Inglethorpe's gathering the same day I had. 'Or Lady Breckenridge?'

'Never. We kept ourselves to ourselves, Captain. Peaches found Lady Breckenridge rude and a bit stuck up. But she liked Inglethorpe. She talked to Inglethorpe, and she talked to me, and that was all.'

'You made an arrangement to meet at The Glass House after the soiree,' I said, thinking it through. 'Mrs. Chapman went to Inglethorpe's by herself then returned to The Glass House, alone, by all accounts, at sometime after four o'clock that day. She was heard arguing with Kensington-or at least he was shouting at her-then she departed by the back door, never to be seen again.'

'Lacey,' Grenville said quietly. Barbury's throat worked as he studied his port.

'I beg your pardon,' I said to Barbury. 'I am only trying to decide what happened.'

Lord Barbury looked up at me, a spark of anger in his eyes. 'I know you must believe I killed her, Lacey. That I met her in my carriage near The Glass House and took her to the Temple Gardens to murder her. But I swear to you I did not. I would never have hurt her, gentlemen, never. I loved her dearly. She was my life.'

He bowed his head again. I wanted to question him further, but Grenville caught my eye and shook his head, and I fell silent.

In my mood tonight, I squarely blamed Lord Barbury for Peaches' death, whether or not he had struck the fatal blow. He had treated her carelessly, and she had suffered for it. I knew, watching him, pale and wretched, that Barbury realized that truth as well.

After Lord Barbury departed half an hour later, Grenville blew out his breath.

'Poor devil,' he said. 'I am certain he did not do it, Lacey. Alvanley and several others put him at White's between three and six o'clock that day. He certainly was nowhere near The Glass House or Middle Temple.'

'I agree that he was at White's,' I answered. 'But powerful men can hire others to do work that would soil their hands. Remember Mr. Horne of Hanover Square.'

He grimaced. 'Yes, he was sordid enough. I suppose your Thompson or Pomeroy are trying to discover whether Barbury or Chapman hired a man to kill her.'

'Thompson is thoughtful and thorough. If there is such a connection, I imagine he will find it, eventually.' I drank some port and pushed the glass aside. 'There is one more person I would like to speak to, who might have known Peaches. An independent witness, if you like.'

Grenville looked puzzled 'I can think of no one. Whom do you mean?'