'It can be no worse than writing reports for a regimental colonel.'
She tried to smile. 'We will- ' She broke off. 'I will miss you.'
We studied each other, I unwilling to say anything that might endanger our friendship further. Underneath the drama between the Brandon and me, Louisa's friendship was a rock.
Louisa drew a breath, and the moment passed. 'You must write of course.' Another smile curved her mouth but did not enter her voice. 'It will be your profession, now.'
'Indeed, I will write lengthy and tedious reports of life in the country. How many flowers wilted at dinner and whether the vicar's wife has a new hat.'
Louisa's smile faded. 'We will miss you.' I noted the firm we that time.
She seemed to remember that her cart sat unmoving. She flicked the whip, and the pony woke up and trotted on, the groom still stoic.
That evening, I turned up, in my newly brushed regimentals, at the Derwents' mansion in Grosvenor Square at the precise hour of seven o'clock. We had supper in the grand dining room amid the sparkle of crystal glasses and the gleam of silver. A row of French windows between mirrors gave out into a garden, which had been lit with festive paper lanterns.
On my first visit with the Derwents the previous summer, when they'd turned out their finest plate and cutlery and lit the house from top to bottom, I had wondered who was the grand guest for the evening. To my amazement, I realized all the fanfare had been for me.
The Derwent family flattered me, but they had genuine liking for me. I at first had been bewildered by them, then I'd decided to let myself enjoy their innocent enthusiasm. They loved more than anything to hear tales of my adventures in the Army, would sit for hours listening to me speak.
Sir Gideon was bluff and genial as usual, very much the country squire. Fair-haired Leland seemed to have survived public school and university without scars, an amazing feat. His sister, Melissa, looked much like him, and both had a frailty that worried me. I hoped that when the time came for Melissa to marry, she would find a gentleman who would understand her naivety and not break her. She watched me shyly and rarely spoke. In the last six months, I believe she had said all of five words to me.
Lady Derwent did not cough much during the meal and seemed better. She spoke with a bright animation that matched her son's and husband's as the butler served champagne.
Mrs. Danbury behaved as though she had nothing on her conscience. She ate the with good appetite and chatted with ease. I began to wonder if Lady Breckenridge had invented the tale of Mrs. Danbury leaving with my walking stick, but I could not think of any reason Lady Breckenridge would do so.
We finished supper and adjourned for cards. I had a lively game of whist with Leland and his father and mother, while Mrs. Danbury and Melissa played upon the pianoforte and the harp.
As the light music filled the room, a marvelous thing happened. I forgot. I forgot that I was poor and lonely and that my career was behind me. I forgot about murder and deceit and the ugliness of the world, forgot everything but the pleasant music, the sincere laughter, the soft slap of cards, and the clink of pennies as we settled up-we never played for more than a farthing a point. The Derwents drew a curtain between themselves and the world, and I enjoyed retreating behind the curtain with them.
I breathed the peace of this place, happy I'd found a refuge. But I knew in my heart that the peace would not last. Lady Derwent was dying. It was only a matter of time before this bright house became one of mourning. Perhaps that was why they were so cheerfully determined to enjoy themselves now; they knew that darkness was coming.
After cards, the Lady Derwent proposed a walk in the garden. The fair weather had lasted all day, and the moon was bright. I joined them, breathing the clean air, which, though cold, was refreshing. The paper lanterns danced, spreading blue and pink and red lights, rendering the garden colorful even in the bare winter night.
But I had come here for another purpose. Mrs. Danbury had not joined us, and I excused myself, declaring I'd forgotten my gloves.
I quickly walked back to the drawing room where Mrs. Danbury had stayed behind to cover the harp. The smell of beeswax and the ladies' perfumes lingered in the room, and the laughter and music seemed to as well.
Mrs. Danbury looked at me in surprise. She settled the dust cover, flapping it like a drapery over a bed. 'Will you not walk, Captain?'
As I moved to her, my expression must have startled her, because she looked at me in alarm. 'Is everything all right? Has my aunt taken ill?'
'No, no,' I said quickly. 'Lady Derwent is well. I returned because I need to speak to you privately.'
Her alarm eased, but only marginally. Tonight Mrs. Danbury wore a dress of blue and lighter blue stripes, bound by a wide sash, her bodice holding a row of false black buttons down the front.
'Oh, yes?' Mrs. Danbury asked. 'What about?'
'The fact that you lied to me about my walking stick. You took it away with you when you left Inglethorpe's on Wednesday afternoon, did you not?'
She froze, and the cloth fluttered from her hands. 'Why do you say so?'
'I am trying to understand what you did and why. I admit I am most puzzled.'
Her color rose. Mrs. Danbury was different from the Derwents in that the she did not share their innocence. She had been married twice, and from what Lady Aline had gossiped to me, neither marriage had been very happy. Her second husband, Mickey Danbury, had enjoyed the beds of many women across London, while sparing little time for his wife. He had been a robust young man and had died breaking his neck while racing his horse from London to Brighton. And a mercy he did, Lady Aline had said.
The experience had and made Mrs. Danbury more world-wise than her uncle, aunt, and cousins, and yet she still managed to be a gentle-mannered lady.
'Captain Lacey, I am uncertain what to say to you.' She gave me a cool look, reminding me that her station in life was a good deal higher than mine. 'Of what precisely are you accusing me?'
'I want you to tell me what happened. I know you took the walking stick. And I cannot help but remember that Inglethorpe had been in the act of removing his clothing when Mr. Chapman burst in and killed him. For an assignation, I assumed. But Inglethorpe was not in a hurry. He removed his clothing and folded it. He would not have done that unless he'd been well acquainted with the woman with whom he was about to carry out the affair. A woman who would wait for him in the next room, or who hid there when Chapman came rushing in. Lovers of long standing, who no longer need to undress in a frenzy of passion.'
Her cool look turned to a glare. 'Are you implying that the woman was me? How dare you? Shall I call my uncle, and tell him what you have said? I hope to heaven he will show you the door.'
'A man was murdered,' I said in a hard voice. 'The weapon was the sword in my walking stick, which you were seen taking away with you the day before. For God's sake, tell me what you did, and please tell me that you had nothing to do with Inglethorpe's death.'
Her breath caught. She looked at me a long moment, lips parted, eyes moist. 'I had nothing to do with it,' she said, losing her defiance. 'Nothing at all, I swear to you. When I left Mr. Inglethorpe, he was alive. I never knew he'd been murdered until my uncle told me of it later that day.'
So she had been there. My heart sank. I had hoped that Mrs. Danbury would tell me that the walking stick had been stolen from her and that she had no idea how it had ended up in Inglethorpe's reception room.
My throat tightening, I said, 'Begin from the beginning, and tell me. You discovered my walking stick left behind on Wednesday, and you took it away with you. Did you realize it was mine?'
Mrs. Danbury rested her hand on top of the harp, half-shielding herself with the instrument. 'Yes, of course. When I saw that you'd left it behind, I caught it up and rushed to take it down to you. But when I reached the street, you'd already gone.'
True. I had leapt into Lady Breckenridge's coach, eager to hear what she had to tell me about Lord Barbury.
Mrs. Danbury went on, 'So I brought it home with me.'
'And then the next day, you took it back to Inglethorpe's.'
Color flooded her face. 'Yes.'
'I must wonder why you did so.'
