scheming little devil, had to find some way to supply himself with the missed money.
Sutcliff had gone so far as to convince Ramsay that he would be accused of the murder and forced him to pay for silence. It was Sutcliff who needed the strapping.
We reached Grenville's chamber, and Matthias let us in, looking tense and drawn. Grenville was unchanged. Marianne sat by the bed, watching him.
I suggested both brothers take a nap, but they refused. 'One of us stays,' Bartholomew said. 'In case they try again, like you said.'
I could not argue. Having one of the footmen close by in a fight would be a good idea. Bartholomew suggested I be the one for the nap, but I could not bring myself to leave the chamber again. Bartholomew brought me soup and ale from the kitchen, and I settled myself in a wing chair with a blanket over my legs. I ate without much tasting the food, then made myself lie back and close my eyes.
Exhaustion coupled with overtiring my leg sent me to sleep. I barely heard Bartholomew take away the tray.
I slept hard, drifting in and out of dreams. I dreamed of Jonathan Lewis standing in Lady Breckenridge's parlor, drawling about his novels. I dreamed that Grenville stood by my side, his satirical smile on his face, listening to him. The dream changed, and I thought Louisa stroked my hair, her lemon perfume touching me as she soothed me in her sitting room.
I dreamed of Lady Breckenridge, wreathed in cigarillo smoke, as she said acidly, 'Good God, Lacey, can you not stand on your own?'
I dreamed of my boyhood, and my father thrashing me so hard that I'd had to crawl away to my bed. Lady Breckenridge's voice sounded again. 'He's dead and gone, Lacey. He cannot hurt you any longer.'
But he could still hurt me. Things could crawl at you out of the dark and hurt you again and again. The past did not always stay dead.
I opened my eyes with a start. Darkness had fallen. Someone had lit candles on the mantel, and they flickered feebly in the greater light from the fire. Matthias slumped in a chair across the room, snoring loudly.
Marianne was holding Grenville's hand again. His eyes were open, and he looked calmly back at her.
Chapter Seventeen
I wanted to leap from my chair, but my aching limbs would not let me move.
Grenville's dark eyes were half-closed, his lashes black points against his white skin. He did not see that I was awake; he saw only Marianne. 'Good Lord,' he whispered to her. 'It's you.'
'So you are alive, then,' she returned.
'I seem to be.' His voice was too weak. He tried to turn his head, grunted with the effort. 'Am I in London?'
'Berkshire,' Marianne said.
'Why are you here?'
'Heard you'd gotten yourself stabbed,' she answered lightly. 'I came to make sure you'd live to give me more coins.'
The corners of his mouth twitched. 'I should have known.' He faltered. 'Is there any water?'
I shoved away the blanket and got to my feet. The other two did not seem to notice me. I poured water from a porcelain pitcher into a glass and brought it to the bed.
Marianne took it from me. 'I'll do it.'
As gently as I'd seen her handle her son, she slid her arm beneath Grenville's neck and lifted his head. She poured the water between his lips. The liquid dribbled from the side of his mouth, but he managed to swallow.
Marianne lowered him back to the pillow and dabbed his lips with her handkerchief.
Grenville looked up at me. 'Hello, Lacey. You look terrible.'
'You look worse,' I said. 'Lie as still as you can. The knife went deep.'
He grimaced. 'Do not remind me.' He touched the bandage. 'Hurts a bit.'
'Do you want laudanum?'
'No,' he said quickly. 'No.'
'You might do better to take it. You should not move too much, and it will help you sleep.'
'I do not want it, Lacey,' he said, his frown increasing. 'I will not move.'
I wondered at his aversion, but I did not pursue it. I had learned to appreciate the benefits of laudanum on the nights when my leg pained me so that I could not sleep. I knew people grew addicted to it, so I tried to resist as much as I could, but some nights, there was nothing for it.
Our conversation had awakened Matthias, who sat up and rubbed his eyes. Grenville seemed slightly amazed to find us all in the room with him.
'I do not wish to tire you,' I said. 'But will you please tell me what the devil happened?'
Grenville studied Matthias' watchful face, then moved his gaze back to Marianne. Their hands were still clasped.
'You must have guessed most of it,' Grenville murmured. 'I saw someone moving about the quad, or thought I did. So naturally, I tried to investigate.' He paused, resting for a moment until he could speak again. 'I am not certain what happened. Someone brushed past me, and I never felt the knife go in. But all the sudden it was there, and I was falling.'
'A tall man?' I asked.
He nodded. 'Tall. I thought it was you at first.'
I leaned against his bedpost. 'Tell me, Grenville, why were you dressed and wandering about the school in the middle of the night?'
'Yes,' Marianne said, 'that's a bit unusual, don't you think?'
He looked from me to Marianne, his look ironic. 'When you are both finished scolding, I will tell you. I had been to Hungerford. I met Sutcliff's lady in the public house there.'
'Met her?' I asked. 'Why?'
'To question her, of course. I know you had spoken to her before you went to London, but you were a bit vague about the details.'
He sounded put out. I had so enjoyed my visit with Jeanne Lanier and hadn't wanted to share our conversation with anyone, other than to reveal relevant information about Sutcliff.
'What did you discuss with her?' I asked him.
'Canals, of course. She is a very charming woman.'
'Yes, I found her so,' I agreed.
'Indeed,' Marianne said scornfully, 'she has measures of charm. She must, otherwise she could not earn a living.'
'It is a studied charm, I do admit,' Grenville said. 'She wished me to invest a good fortune in a canal scheme proposed by one of her friends. Quite convincing, she was.'
'I imagine so,' I said. 'Her friend was Fletcher, and he is now dead.'
Grenville's eyes widened. 'Good Lord.'
'And the lady herself has vanished. Likely with all the money. Sir Montague Harris will put the hue and cry out for her.'
'Is it over then?' Grenville asked. 'The murders?'
'No. The culprit has not been arrested, but I have a few ideas about that. Marianne,' I said abruptly. 'I would like you to go to London.'
Marianne gave me an astonished look. 'What the devil for? I do not wish to, if it's all the same to you.'
'I need you to,' I countered. 'You must deliver some messages for me. They are most important.'
'Go yourself,' she answered.
'I do not want to leave Grenville alone, but we need to put an end to this business.'
Her expression turned belligerent. 'Only this morning, you told me it would be dangerous for me to leave.'
