I could imagine a very young Peaches watching, frustrated, as the premier roles and the accolades went to others, while she was lost in the crowd. I remembered the newspaper articles she'd saved. They had mentioned her in passing if at all-usually, her name was printed only as part of the supporting cast.
'But she met Lord Barbury,' I said.
'Yes, Barbury, the poor fool. She quite threw herself at him. She did have a sweet smile and a pretty face, but most gentlemen simply wanted a night with her. She'd refuse them-saving herself for something better, she'd say. The result was that the gentlemen began to ignore her, as well.'
'Except Lord Barbury.'
Marianne rolled her eyes. 'Barbury was besotted. He was the one who gave her the name Peaches. She was certain he would marry her, but Peaches was always a bit blind. Barbury was in love with her, yes, but he had no intention of taking a nobody actress to wife. He's the kind who, if he marries at all, will find the perfect society lady who knows how to give hunt balls and run fetes and put blue-blooded heirs in the nursery. Rather full of himself is Lord Barbury. Peaches was too. Imagine, she had her own man of business.'
'Did she? What for?'
'I haven't the faintest idea. Like as not, she made it up, or the man handled simply her parents' will, or something.'
'Did she mention his name?'
Marianne shook her head. 'If she did, I do not remember. She probably invented him, as I say. She was prone to inventing things about herself, to make her seem better than she was. Poor thing, she did not have much.'
'And so she decided to marry Chapman.'
Marianne wrapped a strand of her long hair around her finger. 'She began working for another acting company just before she met Chapman, and after that I did not see much of her. But rumor had it that Peaches had met Chapman by chance while walking in Hyde Park. Two months later, they'd married. She probably knew by then she would never be anything more to Lord Barbury than his mistress. Chapman at least made a living, even if he wasn't lofty.'
'Yet, she went back to Lord Barbury after she married.'
Marianne snorted. 'Of course she did. Once she had Chapman for security, why not run back to a rich, handsome lord was madly in love with her?'
'I've been wondering why she married Chapman at all,' I said. 'Lord Barbury gave her money and gifts and loved her desperately. She seemed equally besotted with him. Surely she was happy, even without marriage.'
Marianne gave me a dark look. 'You are a man, Lacey. You cannot even begin to understand. A gentleman who is not your husband can be wild about you one day, weary of you the next. And, once he is weary..' She opened her hand, as though dropping something to the carpet. 'If the lady has saved no money, if he takes back everything he has given her, she is destitute, her character ruined. Marriage is much safer by far for a woman, even if it is not the happiest state.'
'I have not noticed you pursuing it,' I said.
Marianne gave me a smile. 'I prefer scraping a living for myself to being a man's slave, no matter that the law says he has to take care of me. I've seen far too many wives beaten regularly by their husbands to want that.'
I had too, unfortunately. 'Peaches was willing to risk it.'
'Peaches was always starry-eyed, and not very intelligent. She thought marriage would fulfill her dreams, even if she had to settle for much less than she'd hoped.'
And marriage had not saved her from being brutally murdered. Neither Chapman nor Lord Barbury had been able to prevent that.
'What about Mr. Kensington?' I asked. 'Did you know him?'
Marianne wrinkled her nose. 'Nasty little chap. I still see him at the theatre now and again. How and where Peaches met him, I do not know. He hung on Peaches, acted as though he'd cling to her skirts and be taken to riches with her. She despised him, but he looked after her, and he introduced her to Lord Barbury. In return, she paid him.'
I wondered what other hold Kensington had had over her. Not every odious connection is easy to break, especially if one person has an emotional tether to the other.
I also wondered about the man of business Marianne had mentioned. I'd found no letters to or from such a person in Peaches' rooms. The man of business might be a thing of the past, but he was worth pointing out to Sir Montague or Thompson.
Marianne smiled again. 'You are always stirring up trouble, Lacey. It is a bad habit of yours, that.'
'I agree,' I said. 'I would like nothing more than a holiday from it.'
'You would not know what to do with yourself if you did. But I will give you this advice for nothing. I hear you stayed a night in the house of Lady Breckenridge. Have a care of her, Lacey. She can be a viper.'
My face grew warm. 'You are well informed for a lady being kept prisoner.'
She shot me a pitying look. 'I hear things, Lacey. I also hear that she can be rather ruthless.'
'Do not worry about me. I do not imagine she has any interest in me whatsoever.'
'You would be wrong, Lacey. But have a care. You are lonely. When one is lonely, one does foolish things.'
We looked at each other. I wondered how many foolish things Marianne had done and how many more I would do.
I thanked her for her information and asked her to inform me if she thought of anything else. I took my leave, admonishing Marianne once again to try to be kinder to Grenville. She made a face at me.
As I departed, I heard Marianne close the boudoir door behind me and the click of the key as she locked it. I sighed. She and Grenville would have a long battle ahead.
Grenville was still furious with me when we retreated to the carriage, though he strove to mask it. He looked, if anything, embarrassed. Grenville, I had come to learn, was not a man who shared himself lightly. He valued his privacy above all else.
Nonetheless, I decided to approach the matter head-on and told him, rather bluntly, that if he did not let Marianne off the tether, she would snap it altogether.
He grew offended, of course. But at last, as we approached Haymarket on the way to Covent Garden, he heaved an exasperated sigh. 'Blast it, Lacey, look what she has reduced me to.'
'It is your business,' I said, 'and I will stay out of it. But my warning is fair. If you do not trust her, she will never trust you.'
Grenville didn't answer. He looked away for a time, studying the passersby as we bumped slowly toward Covent Garden.
'Tell me what you learned from her, at least,' he said after a time. 'Unless you discussed only me.'
'Not at all. She proved to be most helpful.' To cover the awkwardness between us, I related to him everything Marianne had told me about Peaches. By the time I'd finished, Grenville had softened at bit.
'The poor woman,' he said. 'She probably would have done a great deal better remaining a strolling player in the country. Married some actor chap and had a passel of children who'd tread the boards as soon as they could walk.'
Thus spoke a romantic-a man who would never know what it meant to be cold and hungry and not know whether the next town would provide enough money for food or shelter for the night.
'By the by,' Grenville said. 'What do you intend to do for the rest of the winter, once this problem is cleared up, I mean?'
'Do?' I raised my brows. 'What I always do.'
Which was damn little. Thanks to Grenville, I had his library available to me, and reading through the winter months kept me occupied at least. I had the Derwents to visit once a fortnight, an event I always looked forward to. Grenville would likely invite me to dine or to his club or to Tattersall's every once in a while. At least I now had things to occupy my time and keep my melancholia at bay.
Grenville studied me. 'You know, Lacey, you do not need to live alone. I have an enormous house. I will give you rooms of your own, and you can pay me rent to soothe your pride. We can be two lonely bachelors together.'
