'I see. Well, this can have nothing to do with it.' He lowered his voice, looked at us as though we were co- conspirators. 'I do have a lady, gentlemen. She stays in Hungerford. She is French.'
He sat back, quite proud of himself. For a moment, I wondered what lady would want him, then I remembered that Frederick Sutcliff's father was enormously rich.
'You said she stays in Hungerford,' I said. 'She does not live there?'
He gave me a half-smile. 'She lives where I tell her to live. This term, I have hired rooms for her in Hungerford.'
I had a awful thought. Marianne was staying in Hungerford. This could not be her secret could it? That she was mistress to a stripling man with a spotty face? But Sutcliff's potential of a vast fortune might attract Marianne. Grenville had a fortune too, of course, but I imagined Marianne would find Sutcliff much more controllable than Grenville. I could only hope I was wrong.
'You visited her late Sunday evening, then?' I prompted.
He gave us a self-important smile. 'I confess, gentlemen. I walked to Hungerford and stayed with her most of the night, if you know what I mean. I returned just before dawn. Good thing I did because at first light, all sorts of ruckus was raised about the dead groom, and I might have been seen creeping back in.'
Grenville sipped his claret and gave him an indulgent nod. 'Yes, your timing seems to have been excellent.'
Sutcliff preened himself.
'While you were traveling to and from Hungerford,' I broke in, 'did you happen to see Middleton? Or anything unusual?'
Sutcliff frowned. 'No. What does it matter, in any case? The Romany killed him.'
'Did he? there was no sign of blood on Sebastian's clothes. He was absent from the school when Middleton died, yes. But so were you.'
Sutcliff gaped. 'Are you accusing me? How dare you? I am not a dirty Romany.'
'I did not say you were. I said that there was as much evidence to convict him as you.'
'Rutledge told me you were far too impertinent. And why do you care about his clothes? Doubtless he stripped off his bloody clothes and threw them into the canal. His kind are not stupid.'
'Why did he return to the stables, then, if he was so crafty?' I plunged on. 'He could have met up with his family, disappeared with them. He could be far away by now. But he chose to return to his room.'
'There would have been a hue and cry after him if he'd run away,' Sutcliff said. 'The entire countryside would be turned out to find him. He'd know that.'
'And so he stayed put where he was immediately arrested? No, Mr. Sutcliff, you cannot argue that he was simultaneously crafty and a fool.'
His eyes flared. 'What is your interest? He is Romany, for God's sake.'
'I am interested in the truth. I do not like to see an innocent person hanging for someone else's crime.'
Sutcliff regarded me in dislike. 'You certainly are easily agitated. Perhaps you are a radical, ready to let the mob and the Jew and the Roma rule us?'
'The mob and the Jew will likely be customers for the goods you ship, and you will employ them in your warehouses,' I pointed out. 'The Roma, of course, will not be allowed to work for you.'
'Good God. You are a radical.'
'Not so. But perhaps I have sympathy for those crushed underfoot. I do not have to be a radical to wish a man to pay for his crimes.'
Sutcliff sat forward, his long nose flaring. 'The Romany is to blame, and he will pay. Do you know, my father would tan my hide if he knew I'd spoken to a radical. The mob overthrew the aristocrats in France, you know. You have more to fear than I.' He climbed to his feet, his large hands red below the cuffs of his jacket. 'Good afternoon, Mr. Grenville. I am afraid I do not think much of your claret, or your friends.'
Grenville and I watched him as he strode across the room, dodging furniture like a young hound not yet accustomed to his body. He went out and slammed the door, the sound echoing from the dark beams.
Grenville, to my surprise, chuckled. 'The poor chap. This claret is the finest money can buy. A man who cannot recognize quality when he tastes it will not make a very good merchant.'
I glanced at the closed door. 'We did not obtain the name of the French lady who is willing to live in Hungerford for him.'
'That is not a bother,' Grenville answered. 'Hungerford is not a large town; I imagine the entire population knows who this woman is and where she resides. I do not know why he thinks he can keep such a secret from curious neighbors. They will have found out, one way or another, and be happy to confide the information.'
I raised my brows. 'You sound as though you speak from experience.'
'I have a country estate located near a town about the size of Hungerford. The most entertaining activity there is gossip. A stranger is dissected down to his boots. They are hospitable people, but secrets are impossible to keep.' He drained his glass. 'If you like, I'll pursue the mystery of the Frenchwoman while you do your duties with Rutledge.'
'No,' I said immediately.
He looked surprised. 'Why not?'
I certainly did not want him in Hungerford to trip over Marianne. 'I'd rather have you here, speaking with the lads,' I extemporized. 'They will admire you and be thrilled to speak to you. You might be able to pry more information from them than I. I will attend to the French lady of Hungerford.'
He watched me with curiosity in his black eyes, then he grinned. 'Ah, of course, you would want to interview the lady. Your affinity for the fair sex eclipses me every time.'
I opened my mouth to argue with him, then closed it. Let him think what he liked. I did not want him near Hungerford until I was certain that the 'French' lady was not Marianne, and until I could persuade Marianne to go sensibly back to London.
He put his hands to his chest. 'Command me. What would you have me do?'
I thought. 'Speak to what students you can, then search Middleton's rooms in the stables. I have not had chance to do so. No groom has been hired to replace him, but I am certain Rutledge will not wait long. And find a lad called Timson, the one Ramsay smoked cheroots with the night of Middleton's death.'
Grenville reached out an elegant hand and poured more claret. 'I will endeavor to charm Mr. Timson. Has James Denis sent you any more warnings, by the bye?'
'No, as a matter of fact. Not since he wrote asking me to look into Middleton's death.'
'Hmm. I wonder what danger Middleton had mentioned. The pranks?'
'My greater wonder is that Denis should ask me to take care. Why should he?'
'Because he knows you could be a valuable resource to him.'
I lifted a brow. 'James Denis knows I will not work for him. I am investigating this death because I wish to help Sebastian, not because Denis has asked me to.'
Grenville made a placating gesture. 'I know. But see it from Denis' point of view. You are intelligent, you have been right more times than not, and you persist until you know the truth. You could be quite an asset to him.'
'He is a criminal,' I said quietly, 'though the magistrates fear to arrest him. He procures artwork, however dubiously, for vast fortunes, owns Members of Parliament and peers outright, and once murdered a coachman who worked for him because he was displeased. I hope I will never be an asset to him.'
'And yet, many men would envy your exalted position,' Grenville said. 'No, do not grow angry with me. I admire your resistance. Not many a man could, or would. He could pay you quite well, I imagine.'
'I imagine he could,' I agreed. 'But I should lose myself, Grenville. My dignity is all I have left, and even that deserts me now and again. Shall I give up that as well, and become another of Denis' anonymous lackeys? Sell my soul for a handful of coins? Maybe I am a fool. I do not know any more.'
Grenville studied his wine, not looking at me. I must have embarrassed him. I'd certainly embarrassed myself.
'I do not believe you a fool.' He raised his eyes, but they were shuttered. 'In fact, Lacey, I always considered myself a wise man until I met you. And then I realized that I have been looking at my life the wrong way round.'
I stared at him. 'The wrong way round? What does that mean?'
