like sordid dealings, and had in the past punished those who had used his resources to do sordid things for their own gain. I ought to have remembered that, but in my anger, I'd blamed him without thinking it through.
I straightened. 'So, this Lady Jane owns it? Who is she?'
'I am not certain that she actually owns the property, but she is the intelligence behind the business, I know that much. The name Lady Jane is an affectation. She is French and no more highborn than that actress who used to live upstairs from you. She was not a French emigre, but a republican and fond of Bonaparte. She came to England after the Bourbon king's restoration in 1815, refusing to live under the French monarchy again.'
'Is she a procuress?' I asked.
'Is, or was. She started as a prostitute, I gather, a long time ago. I heard a tale that a French aristocrat bribed her to hide him during the Terror, and she bled him dry. In any event, she arrived on England's shores with a fortune, however she obtained it.'
'And she is a rival to you? How?' I could not imagine such a thing.
'Lady Jane is cunning and clever and has acquired a good deal of money. She has bought influence, and she has thwarted a few of my schemes or outright pulled my clients out from under me. She is bothersome and tricky, and I would like to see her brought down. Like you, I believe The Glass House to be a loathsome place, and I would enjoy seeing it closed.'
'You have become a moralist, have you?' I asked.
Denis leaned forward, eyes chill. 'I confess that I share your distaste for certain practices, Captain. I have no tolerance for a pederast. He is a man who cannot control his lusts with his finer feelings or indeed, with his common sense. In short, he is a fool.' He gave me a wintry smile. 'If you desire to return to The Glass House and break more windows, I will lend you all the assistance you want.'
He sorely tempted me. I disliked James Denis and his power, but I thought that I possibly disliked The Glass House more. Denis knew that. His cold smile confirmed it.
But I knew that I played into his hands. Denis could have moved to close The Glass House at any time. But once he'd learned of my interest, he'd suddenly decided to seize upon an opportunity to dispose of his rival. Not only would closing The Glass House hurt Lady Jane, he would have done me yet another favor, pulling me further into his debt. His help, as always, came with a price.
His power, on the other hand, could ensure success, and girls like Jean would never have to fear The Glass House again.
I tapped my walking stick to my palm. 'Very well,' I said, containing my anger. 'I will tell the magistrates about Lady Jane.'
He looked pleased, or as pleased as James Denis ever looked. 'Excellent, Captain. I will, as you say, put more wheels in motion.'
'Perhaps you can tell me something else, while you are doing me favors,' I said. 'What do you know about a woman called Amelia Chapman, also known as Peaches, who was connected to The Glass House? She died on Monday.'
Denis remained impassive. 'I know nothing of her, save what I read in the newspaper. A young woman, married to a barrister, found dead in the Thames. Murder, not suicide. If Kensington or Lady Jane killed her for their own reasons, the news did not reach me.' He twined his long fingers together. 'If, however, I do hear anything of it, I will inform you.'
James Denis had given me a vital piece of information last summer in the Westin affair, which had helped much but certainly increased my debt to him. Denis had vowed to own me outright, and everything he did concerning me looked to that goal. He regarded me with a bland expression, knowing this and saying nothing of it.
I leaned to him again. 'If you continue in this direction,' I said, 'you will make me angry enough to simply break your neck.'
His returning look was cold. 'I have told you what I will do. We are finished, now, Captain. Good night.'
He held my gaze, but I saw a touch of uneasiness in his eyes. That satisfied me. It satisfied me very much.
Chapter Thirteen
I met Grenville at the front door, where he had been barred from further entrance to the house. Once in the carriage, I apprised him in clipped sentences of what had occurred between Denis and me upstairs.
'So there exists a person who worries James Denis?' Grenville asked. 'Good God. That is a bit unsettling.'
'He seems confident that I can help depose her. Though I am not fool enough to trust everything he told me.'
'No, of course not. But he claims to know nothing of Peaches?'
'Nothing whatever. He seemed a bit surprised that I asked.'
Grenville fell silent, his dark eyes troubled. He believed I should tread more carefully where James Denis was concerned, and he was right, but Denis infuriated me. He wielded power over too many, and no one seemed disposed to stop him.
We proceeded to Clarges Street, as planned, to interview Marianne. Grenville's house there, round the corner from Piccadilly, looked much as I expected. Narrower than its fellows, the house had a facade of gray plaster with white pediments over the door and windows, and was one of the most elegant on the street.
The interior exuded the same quiet elegance. A polished staircase spilled into a tiled hall, and doors led to high-ceilinged, well-furnished rooms. The foyer smelled of beeswax and linseed oil.
A maid in neat black and white bustled to meet us and curtseyed to me and Grenville. Grenville divested himself of his greatcoat and hat and gave them to the stolid lad who had opened the door for us. 'Where is Miss Simmons?' he asked.
The maid hesitated. She glanced at the footman who returned the uneasy glance. 'We are not certain, sir,' the maid said.
'Not certain? What do you mean, not certain? Is she not in the house?'
'She has not gone out, sir, no. Dickon is positive about that. He has not moved from the front door since early this afternoon, and she had dinner in her room after that.'
'She might have gone down through the kitchens,' I said.
'No, indeed, sir. She never came through that way. Cook has been down there all the day. We've been watching special.'
'Well, she cannot have vanished,' Grenville snapped. 'She had dinner in her room, you say?'
'Yes, sir. At seven o'clock. I went to put her to bed not an hour ago, but I could not find her. She's not in her bed chamber nor in any of the other rooms.'
'Hell,' Grenville began.
I cut him off. 'Will you allow me to try?'
The boy and the maid stared at me. Grenville's eyes narrowed. 'If you believe it will do any good. She has done this before. Damned if I know where she disappeared to.'
I was not listening. I moved past them to the stairs, cupped my hands around my mouth, and bellowed, 'Marianne!'
My voice echoed up through intricate arches of the stairwell and rang against the painted ceiling, four stories above us. After a moment's silence, a door slammed open near the top of the house, and we heard the sound of light footfalls.
Marianne looked over the railing on the top floor, her golden curls tumbling forward like a girl's. 'Is that you, Lacey?'
'What the devil are you doing up there?' Grenville demanded.
Marianne ignored him. 'What do you want, Lacey? Have you come to take me home?'
'No, I came to ask you a question.'
Marianne's hand tightened on the banister, but she nodded. 'Very well. Come up to my chamber.'
