'It means you are the wise man, and I am the fool. But enough.' He set aside his glass, rose. 'Let me find and interest the boys, and you go in search of your French lady.'
Hungerford had once been used by Charles I as a base from which he fought battles with Cromwell's army. One could picnic now at the battle sites, as I imagined that one day Spanish ladies and gentlemen would picnic at the sites of Talavera and Abuerra and other gruesome chapters in the war against Bonaparte. The locals also proclaimed that Queen Elizabeth had some time rested here on one of her progresses to and from London.
Hungerford's High Street was long and backed onto the canal. This late in the afternoon it was crowded with those purchasing goods for their afternoon meal. The sky was leaden, but the rain had ceased. Mud coated the street, and a passing cart threw more upon my boots.
Grenville had been correct about the ease with which I discovered the rooms in which Sutcliff had placed his paramour. I stepped into a tavern that smelled of stale beer and yesterday's roast, and nursed an ale while the publican's wife told me everything I wanted to know. I finished the ale, thanked her, and went off in pursuit.
At the end of the High Street, I found a small lane branching from the main road. At the end of this, just as the publican's wife had indicated, sat a square brick house, not very large, surrounded by an untidy garden.
Two women had taken rooms to let here. The woman who owned the house, a widow by the name of Albright, offered the rooms to bring in extra money. The renters were expected to find their own meals and pay extra for a maid to clean their rooms and remove their night soil. According to the publican's wife, the house attracted only those who knew they would not be welcome at other, more respectable lodging houses.
One woman at this house was Miss Simmons, an actress from London. The other was a young woman named Jeanne Lanier. She was French, the daughter of French emigres, and, I had no doubt, Frederick Sutcliff's lover.
Mrs. Albright wore a brown dress with rents in several places mended with clumps of black thread. She had brown hair the same shade as the dress and faded blue eyes. When I asked to see Miss Simmons, she gazed at me doubtfully but ushered me into a small, stuffy sitting room and departed to find her.
Dust lay thick on the furniture, and the windows must not have been opened for a long while. I had given Mrs. Albright my card, and as the minutes ticked past, I wondered if Marianne had seen it and fled the house. After a time, however, I heard her step.
She entered the sitting room alone. 'You gave me a fright, Lacey,' she said, closing the door. 'I thought you'd brought him with you.'
I had risen at her entry. 'You know he's arrived, then.'
'Oh, yes. I saw his coach. You were correct about him flying down here on the moment. He cannot keep his long nose out of any business.'
'Grenville has been most helpful to me in the past,' I told her, my tone cool. 'I welcome his help now.'
'Yes, yes, he is your dearest friend.'
I ignored this and motioned for her to sit on one of the chairs. She glanced at it in disdain, brushed it off with her hand, then sank into it.
I seated myself, facing her. 'Have you decided to confide in me?' I asked.
Marianne studied her hands. In the dim light of the room, the hair on her bent head looked more silver than blonde. I realized, studying her, that though she dressed in a young woman's clothing and wore her hair in ringlets like a girl, Marianne was not as young as she pretended to be. She had the gift that some women had of maintaining a young face no matter how much time passed. But I saw in the droop of her shoulders the tiredness that years bring.
'I have decided,' she said. She looked up at me, her blue eyes hard. 'I will tell you everything.'
Chapter Nine
She had no intention of telling me there and then, however. 'I will show you,' she said. 'That will be easier than explaining. Tomorrow, when you go out for your preposterously early ride, meet me by Froxfield Lock.'
'Froxfield?' I asked, surprised.
'Yes. I will not tell you any more, so do not press me. If you want to know, you will meet me; if not, then I will tell you nothing.'
'Very well, you have convinced me.' I wanted to shake her, truth to tell, but I could see she was troubled and a bit frightened.
'I have another errand here,' I went on. 'I came to see Jeanne Lanier.'
Marianne looked surprised. 'What on earth for? She would not suit you, Lacey.'
I ignored her needling. 'What do you know about her?'
Marianne shrugged. 'She is French, but she has lived in England all her life. She's young, pretty, wants money. Typical.'
'Typical of what?'
'Fallen ladies, my innocent friend. I do not mean she walks the streets; but she makes contracts with gentlemen to keep her. Her current protector is quite young, only nineteen, I think, although she is not much older than he is, in truth.'
'Yes, he is a student at the school,' I told her. 'A vastly wealthy one, or at least his father is. Do you know whether he visited her Sunday night? About ten o'clock it would have been.'
Marianne nodded. 'Oh, he was here all right. I never saw him, but I heard them.' She grimaced. 'I put my pillow over my head and went to sleep. So I cannot tell you what time he departed, if that is what you want to know.'
'Could you be persuaded to find out? I mean, could you keep an eye on Jeanne Lanier and let me know if she says anything unusual about Mr. Sutcliff?'
'In case he had anything to do with the murder?' She tipped her head to one side, and her childlike look returned. 'I might be persuaded.'
'For a reasonable fee, of course,' I said. 'But please be discreet.'
'My dear Lacey, I am discretion itself. Were I not, many a gentleman in London would fall. I am amazed at what they confide in me.'
I could imagine. Gentlemen said things to their lovers that they told to no other.
Marianne agreed to fetch Jeanne Lanier for me, and I waited while she made her way upstairs.
I had always wondered about Marianne's origins. She spoke well, as though she'd come from at least a middle-class family, and she did know manners, if she did not always use them. At the same time, she could swear volubly with words even an army man would hesitate to use. Her knowledge of men, and her frank admission to manipulating them through their desires, could be a bit embarrassing. And yet, she put herself above the street girls who lured men to their dooms, and even above the other actresses with whom she shared the stage.
Asking direct questions of Marianne had never gotten me far, however. When she wanted me to know about her past life, she would tell me.
After a few more minutes, Jeanne Lanier arrived.
Marianne had been correct when she said that Jeanne was not much older than Sutcliff. I put her age at about twenty, possibly a year less. Dark brown ringlets trickled down her neck from under a small white cap. She had a pretty face that was not beautiful but pleasing. Part of its pleasantness came from her dark-lashed blue eyes and wide mouth.
She made a curtsey, held out her hand. 'Captain Lacey?'
I bowed, took her hand, and said, 'I've come from the Sudbury School. Mr. Sutcliff told me about you.'
She smiled wisely. 'Ah, Mr. Sutcliff. Please sit down, Captain. The chairs are horrid, but I can offer you no others, unfortunately. Your leg must be tired from the ride.'
She spoke with a very charming accent. Most children of French emigres that I had met, born and raised in England, spoke English in a manner quite the same as any English person. But perhaps Jeanne Lanier had learned that a gentleman finds a slight misuse of English intriguing.
'I would offer you refreshment, but again, I fear…' She shook her head. 'You would do better to visit the tavern on the way out of Hungerford.'
