Rutledge had made arrangements for Grenville to take luncheon with him in his private rooms. He grudgingly invited me along, but I declined, knowing he did not truly want me. I made my way instead to the common dining hall, where I seated myself next to a morose Fletcher.
'I suppose it does not matter,' Fletcher sighed as he scraped the last of his stew from his bowl. 'I should never have become a tutor, but I much needed the post. I was a translator, you know, in London. I translated books from fine Latin and Greek into raw English so that the great unwashed could understand them. Sacrilege, but one must eat.'
He ate the remainder of his soup now, hungrily.
'Do you lock your rooms?' I asked him.
'No, why should I? Servants have to tidy and lay the fire, do they not? Anyone is free to enter, including those bent on destroying perfectly innocent books.' His mouth quivered. 'A good book is like a good friend, do you know, Lacey? One you can turn to when the night is cold and you are lonely. And there is old Herodotus, standing ready to regale me with tales of his travels.'
'Yes,' I said sympathetically. 'Grenville has offered to help you replace some of the books.'
He brightened. 'Good heavens, has he? How noble of him. Well, I shall toast Mr. Grenville.' He lifted his port glass.
I drank with him to Grenville. 'Why should anyone burn your books?' I asked presently. 'I mean your books in particular, rather than, say, Tunbridge's math texts?'
Fletcher shrugged. 'Science and mathematics are all the rage, you know. But who has time for good old Horace? I managed to save one.' He patted his robe. 'In my pocket at the time. One, when I had so many.'
'I am sorry,' I told him. 'It was a rotten thing to do.'
He heaved a long sigh. 'Ah, well, Captain, God sends us trials, does he not? But one day, one day, I shall buy an entire library of everything I want. And then I shall sit back in a room filled with so many, many texts, and read to my heart's content.' He smiled a little, enjoying his dream.
I noted Sutcliff watching us from his place at the head of his table. When he caught my eye, he nodded, lifting his glass. Then he turned away to snarl at a younger boy down the table, who had not finished his stew. A Rutledge in the making, I reflected.
When the meal finished and we all left the hall, I caught up to Sutcliff and touched his shoulder. 'Mr. Sutcliff,' I said. 'Could you spare some time to speak to me and Mr. Grenville?'
Chapter Eight
Sutcliff agreed to meet with Grenville and myself for a glass of claret that afternoon. His tone when he delivered his answer told me that he never would have accepted had Grenville not been involved. Gabriel Lacey might be a gentleman, his look said, but Gabriel Lacey could barely afford the clothes on his back.
My own father would have thrashed him soundly just for that look. Lucky for Sutcliff that my father was dead.
At three o'clock, Sutcliff reported to Grenville's rooms, and Grenville, now rested and bathed and dressed again in a fine suit, received him.
While Didius Ramsay was a usual sort of boy trying to fit in with his fellows, Sutcliff was a few years older than the rest, and definitely Rutledge's man. He regarded everyone about him with a sneer and considered himself higher than all except Rutledge. Sutcliff's father, I had learned from gossip, one of the wealthiest men in London, had risen from assistant clerk at a warehouse to become the owner of a fleet of merchant ships and several warehouses. Goods from all over the world-and the money those goods made-had passed through his hands. Sutcliff stood to inherit all that money, and he made certain with every gesture and turn of phrase, that we all knew it.
I wondered, however, how much money he truly had at present. His father likely gave him an allowance, but even wealthy fathers could be stingy as a way to teach their sons to respect money. Sutcliff's clothes were not shabby, but nor were they the equal of Grenville's, or even small Ramsay's. Perhaps his papa held the purse strings tighter than Sutcliff liked.
Sutcliff seated himself on a Turkish sofa in Grenville's rather grand rooms and accepted the glass of claret that Matthias, Bartholomew's brother, whom Grenville had brought with him, served us.
When Matthias had emptied the bottle, Grenville told him he was finished with his duties and suggested he find Bartholomew and take him to visit the pub in Sudbury. Matthias thanked him, said a cheerful good afternoon to me, and departed.
Sutcliff gave Grenville a look of mild disdain when he'd gone. 'They get above themselves, you know, if you allow it.'
Grenville nodded as though Sutcliff had said something wise. 'Indeed, my servants ever take advantage of me.' He studied the fine color of his claret before taking a sip. 'Now then, Mr. Sutcliff, what do you think of Sudbury School? It has a fine reputation.'
Sutcliff arched a brow. 'What do I think of it? You hardly plan to send your sons here, do you?'
'I am interested.'
Grenville was holding himself in check. I'd seen him turn the full force of his cold and satirical persona to others, observed peers of the realm wilt before him, seen powerful gentlemen fear to come under his stare. Grenville needed only to imply that a gentleman purchased his gloves ready-made or did not pay his servants or had bad table manners, and that gentleman would be forever marked. Sutcliff was unaware of his danger.
'It's a tedious place, if you must know,' Sutcliff said. He gulped his claret, and then helped himself to more. 'But at the end of this term, I will be finished, thank God.'
'I agree, being buried in the country is not stimulating to the intellect,' Grenville said. 'What do you do for diversion?'
'Oh, we amuse ourselves. Games and whatnot. The younger boys smuggle in spirits and dice and believe themselves sophisticated. Of course, I report all that to Rutledge.'
Grenville smiled in reminiscence. 'When I was at school, we knew a house nearby that didn't mind offering cards and other vices to us as long as we could pay.'
Sutcliff snorted. 'Nothing like that in Sudbury. Or even Hungerford.'
'And yet,' I broke in. I knew Grenville was leading up to the question in his own way, but my impatience got the better of me, as usual. 'There must be a reason that you climbed the wall on Sunday evening, shortly after Middleton the groom left for the village.'
Sutcliff's glass froze halfway to his mouth. He stared at me for a long moment, while Grenville shot me an annoyed look.
'Who has said this?' Sutcliff asked stiffly.
'I am well informed,' I answered.
Sutcliff clicked his glass to the table beside him. 'Did Rutledge ask you to spy for him? To follow his pupils and report what they do?'
I shook my head. 'I can hardly run about after you on a game leg, can I? You were seen, Mr. Sutcliff. Where did you go?'
His lip curled. 'Not to the village, certainly. It is quite dull on a Sunday night.'
'Ah, you know this.'
His eyes sparkled with anger. 'See here, Captain Lacey.'
Grenville broke in with a soothing gesture. 'Who is the lady, Mr. Sutcliff?'
Frederick Sutcliff stopped, flushed.
I grew irritated with myself for not having thought of it. I had been so fixed on the murder, that I forgot that young men sneaked away from school for other reasons, one of them being female companionship.
Sutcliff's tone was a bit less disdainful. 'You are a gentleman of the world, Mr. Grenville. I say, you will not peach to Rutledge, will you?'
'I assure you, I have no wish to tell your secrets to Rutledge,' Grenville said. 'Neither does Captain Lacey. We are simply interested in Middleton's murder.'
