James Denis seated himself. His men took up places on nearby benches, which magically cleared of patrons. Anne approached with tankards of ale. The lackeys gladly took them, but Denis waved his away. He laid his hat on the table and folded his gloved hands over his walking stick.
'I've come about your Frenchman,' he said.
I had assumed so, although, with Denis, one should never assume anything.
'I have not much more to tell you about him than what I wrote in my message,' I said.
He lifted one perfectly groomed brow. 'No need for more of a description. I have already found him.'
'Truly? I only wrote you of it this morning.'
'I heard of the incident before you journeyed to Epsom,' he said. 'One of my men saw the Frenchman fleeing your rooms. My man followed him across the river, but lost him in Lambeth. That at least gave me a place to begin. We found him tonight, and he is waiting at my house. He is from Paris and answers to the name of Colonel Naveau.'
I had never heard of him. But my idea that he'd had a military bearing seemed to be correct.
'You could have written this information to me,' I said. 'And fixed an appointment for me to meet him.'
'I thought you might be anxious to interview him,' Denis answered without expression. 'I began to call at your rooms, but my man said he'd seen you walking toward Maiden Lane.'
And he'd know that I liked to come to the tavern here. I wished I could meet this 'man' of his, who watched all my movements and reported them to his master.
'I have an appointment tonight,' I said. 'As much as I wish to interview Colonel Naveau, I will have to leave it until morning.'
'I will accompany you to your appointment.'
I wondered why the devil Denis was so anxious for me to see this colonel right away. 'It is with a lady,' I said.
His eyes flickered in surprise, then slight distaste, as though speaking with a lady should never come between a man and his business. I had never bothered to wonder why there was no Mrs. Denis. James Denis was cold all the way through.
'Very well, then,' he said, his expression still neutral. 'We will fix an appointment for breakfast tomorrow. Nine o'clock. I will tell Colonel Naveau that he is welcome to spend the night with me.'
I was certain that Colonel Naveau would not like that arrangement one bit. I was equally certain that Denis would give him no choice.
I took a casual sip of ale, as though his turning up at one of my haunts did not unnerve me. 'You could not tell me, while you are here, who murdered Henry Turner?'
The corners of his mouth moved in what might be an expression of amusement in a more feeling man. 'I am afraid not, Captain. I had not anticipated that your colonel would get himself into trouble at a society ball, or I should have had a man in place to prevent it.'
I was not sure whether he jested or not. Denis's countenance was as blank as ever as he rose to his feet. He did not shake my hand, but he bowed and took up his hat. 'Until morning, then, Captain.'
I nodded stiffly in return. Denis made for the door and exited, placing his hat on his head in the precise moment before he stepped outside. His lackeys fell in behind him like trained dogs.
Bartholomew drifted back to the table. 'Well, that was what I call interesting,' he said.
'Yes.' I watched the dark doorway that Denis had exited. 'I will know more what he wants tomorrow. Tonight, we will take a hackney coach to Cavendish Square and pay a call.' I drank the last of my ale and thumped the tankard to the table. 'No doubt Denis's man will follow and tell him exactly who we visited and why.'
Bartholomew grinned, a little shakily, and then we left the tavern. The married Anne Tolliver smiled at us both as we went.
The house in Cavendish Square was no different from its fellows, being tall and narrow with tall, narrow windows and a tall, narrow front door with a polished knocker.
I arrived at half-past three precisely, and the maid, Grady, answered the door. She seemed used to dealing with visitors at all hours, because she calmly took my hat and ushered me upstairs to a sitting room.
The room was rather anonymous, with fashionable upholstered Sheraton chairs in a salmon-colored stripe and studded wood, salmon-colored swags on the windows, and cream silk on the walls. Nothing personal marred the room, as though the house's inhabitants had ordered the furnishing to be as elegant yet innocuous as possible.
I expected Mr. Bennington to pop up at any moment, drawling sarcasm about his wife receiving male visitors in the small hours of the morning. Grady must have noticed me looking for him, because she said, 'Mr. Bennington is staying at his hotel tonight,' and departed to fetch her mistress.
Again, I wondered at the strangeness of the Benningtons' relationship. They'd married for convenience, that was certain, but what convenience? Would a husband truly vacate the house so that his wife could receive a gentleman caller?
I paced the room while I mulled this over. The room was cool despite the fire on the hearth, its anonymity shutting me out.
I turned when the door opened behind me. Claire Bennington paused on the threshold just as she'd paused on the stage earlier tonight, waiting for the adulation to die down before she spoke her lines. She was dressed in a peignoir, similar to the one Lady Breckenridge had worn when she'd received me two days ago.
The difference was that Lady Breckenridge wore her peignoir with an awareness of how it enhanced her body. I, as a man, had not been unmoved by the garment. Mrs. Bennington looked like a child in clothes too old for her.
Mrs. Bennington glided to the center of the room. She had no rehearsed lines, and she obviously found it difficult to begin. She wet her lips, but said nothing.
I was struck anew with how young she was. I'd read in newspaper articles that she was in her twenties, but she could not be far into them. She might be comely, and she might have lived in the harsh world of theatre, but she seemed far less conscious of her enticements than had the game girls to whom I'd given shillings earlier tonight.
'Mrs. Bennington,' I said after the silence had stretched. 'Why did you ask to see me?'
She wet her lips again and touched the lapel of my coat, her fingers light as a ghost's. 'Captain Lacey,' she said. 'I am so very much afraid.'
She let the words roll dramatically from her tongue. But I realized that as much as she embellished her delivery, her eyes held real fear.
'Of what?' I gentled my voice. 'It is all right. You may tell me.'
She studied me with round eyes, then drew a breath and said, 'I am afraid of Mr. Grenville.'
Chapter Twelve
The statement was so unexpected that I started. 'Of Grenville? Good Lord, why?'
Mrs. Bennington shuddered, her fingers trembling on my chest. 'Please tell him to stay away.'
'You needn't worry about Mr. Grenville,' I said, trying to sound reassuring. 'He might not show it at times, but he has a good and kind heart. There is no need to be afraid of him.'
I felt as though I were stilling the fears of a child. Mrs. Bennington swung away from me. 'Yes, there is need. He comes here, and to my rooms at the theatre, and remonstrates with me. He scolds me, grows angry when I speak to young men. Why should I not speak to young men? There is no harm in it. Mr. Bennington sees nothing wrong in my speaking with gentlemen. But Mr. Grenville will have none of it. He shouts at me.' Her hazel eyes filled with tears. 'He is so jealous that he frightens me.'
'Jealous?' I had never seen Grenville behave like a jealous lover. With the exception of his obsession with Marianne, he'd always conducted his affairs coolly, never voicing any disapprobation of the lady, no matter how she behaved. When he ended the liaison, he departed from the lady just as coolly.
Only Marianne had ever angered him, and that was not jealousy, but frustration. Marianne could drive anyone
