when they said she was an empty vessel. Except for that flash of trepidation, she seemed a rather vacuous creature.
Her hand was soft and not strong, the flesh yielding to the press of my fingers. Her hair was artificially curled; close to, it looked frizzled from too many times with a crimping iron, the color dulled with dye.
'Greet the good captain, my dear,' Mr. Bennington prodded.
Mrs. Bennington jerked, as though she were an automaton needing a push to begin its trick. 'How do you do?' she said. Her voice, too, was rather breathy, holding none of the quality she'd had on stage. 'Grady,' she said to an older woman who was tidying the room, seemingly the only person with anything to do. 'Bring the captain some port.'
'None for your husband, eh?' Bennington said. He gave his wife a deprecating look and strolled away.
Mrs. Bennington had not let go of my hand. Now she pressed it tighter, her nails sinking into my skin. 'Captain, I am glad you have come. I must speak with you.'
'I am all attentive, madam,' I said.
Mrs. Bennington shot a furtive glance at the dandies, who were eyeing me with jealous dislike. 'Not here. Later. Alone. In my rooms. Grady will tell you.' She released me abruptly as her maid approached with a glass of port carefully balanced on a tray. Grady stopped in front of me, and Mrs. Bennington turned away and seized the arm of the nearest dandy.
The young man gave me a triumphant look and led her off. Grady, who had far less vacant eyes than her mistress, handed me the port. As I drank, she gave me instructions. I was to appear at number 23, Cavendish Square, at half-past three and be admitted to her mistress. I was to come alone, no followers, excepting, if I wanted, a servant.
Grady marched away, leaving me with the port and nothing to do but watch the dandies fall all over Mrs. Bennington. Mr. Bennington joined the throng and made cutting remarks to his wife's face, looking amused when she did not notice.
I realized, listening to him, that Bennington severely disliked his wife. It was clear in his drawling comments, in the looks he shot her when her attention was elsewhere. He viewed her as contemptible, and he despised her.
Why then had he married the woman? He might have stayed on the Continent, happily avoiding hearty Englishmen as long as he liked. But he had married Claire Bennington and then returned to England with her. It was a puzzle among the other puzzles I needed to solve.
I stayed in the room until I could politely take my leave. When I told Mrs. Bennington good night, she shot me a meaningful look that was plain for all to see. Her husband saw it. He gave me a beatific smile and shook my hand.
'I hope I have made your visit to the theatre worthwhile,' he said, his teeth gleaming.
I responded with some polite phrase and departed.
As I walked home through the rain, I let the vivid picture of Bennington killing Henry Turner fill my mind. Bennington had made no bones about the fact that he thought Turner had deserved to be murdered. The look Bennington had given me as I'd departed his wife's dressing room had been filled of self-deprecating amusement, but also of anger. He knew bloody well that later I'd be visiting Mrs. Bennington and that he would be expected to keep out of the way.
I longed to tell Bennington that I had no intention of cuckolding him, but I didn't think he'd believe me. I would have refused Mrs. Bennington's invitation altogether, but she intrigued me with the worry in her eyes, and also, she'd been at the Gillises' ball.
As I turned to Russel Street, making my way to Grimpen Lane, a few game girls called to me from the shadows. They laughed when I merely tipped my hat and did not respond.
They knew by now that I treated street girls with kindness and did not turn them over to the watch or to the reformers. But they saw no reason not to capitalize on that kindness.
'Come, now, Captain,' one called. 'I'll only ask a shilling. No better bargain in London.'
'Tuppence,' another girl insisted. Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw from coughing. 'Only tuppence fer you. 'Cause it wouldn't be work for me.'
The girls bantered with me often, but I was never tempted by them. The poor things were always wracked with some illness or other, a few of them with syphilis. It was not simply pity and caution of disease that kept me from them, however. Most of them were younger than my daughter, and all were accomplished thieves. Their flats, as they called the gentlemen who hired them, never paid enough, and the girls saw no reason why they should not lift the handkerchief of anyone passing to sell for an extra bob or two.
A year or so ago, I'd helped one of their number, Black Nancy, by taking her to Louisa Brandon. Louisa, used to taking in strays, had found the girl a place as a maid at an inn near Islington.
I distributed a shilling to each of them and told them to go get themselves warm.
'A fine gentleman yer are,' one said. She reached out to stroke my arm, and I backed quickly out of reach. I wanted to keep the contents of my pockets. They laughed, and I tipped my hat again and walked away.
When I entered Grimpen Lane, I half expected to hear the altercation between Marianne and Grenville filling the street. All was quiet, however, even when I opened the door that led up to my rooms.
In the past, the staircase had been painted with a mural of shepherds and shepherdesses frolicking across green fields. Now the paint had mostly faded except for the occasional shepherdess peering out of the gloom. Mrs. Beltan didn't bother painting the staircase because it would be an extra expense, and no one saw it but her boarders.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my knee stiff from the weather. At the top of the stairs, my door, once ivory and gold, now gray, stood ajar.
I eyed it in irritation. If Marianne and Grenville had departed for more comfortable surroundings, they might have at least closed the door and kept out the cold.
I heard a quiet step on the stairs above me. I looked up to see Bartholomew descending from the attics, his tread surprisingly soft for so large a young man. When I opened my mouth to speak, he thrust a finger over his lips, urging me to silence.
I peered through the half-open door and saw Marianne and Grenville close together in the middle of the room. Marianne's arms hung at her sides, but she looked up at Grenville as he cradled her face in his hands. As I watched, he leaned to kiss her.
I shot Bartholomew a surprised glance. He shrugged. I signaled for him to follow me, and he tiptoed down the stairs and past the doorway to me, then we both descended quietly to the street.
'The argument seems to be over,' I said.
'I hope so, sir. They shouted for the longest time.'
'Well, let us hope they have come to some accordance. Are you hungry?'
'Famished, sir.'
I suggested the Rearing Pony, a tavern in Maiden Lane, and Bartholomew readily agreed. We walked through Covent Garden square to Southampton Street and so to Maiden Lane, where we ate beefsteak and drank ale like every good John Bull.
It was there that James Denis found me.
Denis was still a relatively young man, being all of thirty. But his dark blue eyes were cold and held the shrewdness of a born trader or dictator. If Emperor Bonaparte had met James Denis over a negotiating table, Bonaparte would have ceded everything and fled, and considered himself lucky to get away so easily.
I was surprised to see Denis in such a lowly place as a tavern. He kept a wardrobe as costly and fashionable as Grenville's and lived in a fine house in Curzon Street. He did not often venture out to see others; he had others brought to him.
Two burly gentlemen flanked him to the right and left, former pugilists that he employed to keep him safe. He studied me for a moment or two, his eyes as enigmatic as ever, then he gestured to the seat next to me.
'May I?' Denis wasn't asking my permission. He simply said the polite words for benefit of those around us.
'Of course,' I said, also for benefit of those around us.
Bartholomew moved off the bench, swiping up his ale as he went. He sauntered across the room, where he smiled at the barmaid, Anne Tolliver, who gave him a large-hearted smile in return.
