'About this paper Naveau was looking for,' I began.
Hazleton shrugged. 'Don't know much about it. Naveau came bursting in here and started going on about Mr. Turner being a thief and ruining him. He demanded I return a paper what Mr. Turner stole. I said I didn't know nothing about it, but that you had been up here for a time by yourself, so maybe you'd taken it. Then he ran off after you.' Hazleton glanced at my fading bruises again. 'Didn't know he'd pummel you.'
'I would like to know why that document was worth pummeling me for.'
'No idea, Captain. No idea at all. At any rate, it's not here.'
'It seems it is not. You never saw it?'
Hazleton burped. 'If I did, I wouldn't have paid it much mind, if it were in Frenchie talk, 'cause I don't know it, as I said.'
'Then how did you communicate with your ladies in Paris?'
'Oh, I know enough for that.' He grinned. 'You don't need much language to tell a lady you fancy her, now do you?'
'No, I suppose you do not.'
I asked him a few more questions, but it was clear that Hazleton did not know what the document was or where it could be found. I left him to finish imbibing the last of his master's claret.
Outside, I bought a bit of bread from one vendor and coffee from another. I chewed through my repast and thought about what to do.
The likeliest person to have that document, if it had not been destroyed, was Mrs. Harper. If Brandon had told me the truth, if he'd met with Turner at eleven o'clock and made the exchange-a bank draft for the document- and left the room again with Turner still alive, then he must have rid himself of the document between eleven o'clock and about one, when Pomeroy's patroller took him to Bow Street and made him turn out his pockets.
After meeting with Turner, Brandon had taken Imogene Harper aside in one of the alcoves in the ballroom. Had he passed her the paper and told her to hide or destroy it? Or had he strolled to a nearby fireplace and burned it himself?
It would have taken some time to push it into a fireplace and watch until it burned to ash. Brandon would have had to ensure that the paper actually did burn and didn't fall behind a log or into the ash grate. I could not fathom that no one would notice him doing this.
No, he must have passed it to Imogene Harper. But then, if Mrs. Harper had it, why had she come to search Turner's rooms? Either she did not have it, or she'd been looking for something else.
I ground my teeth in frustration. Nothing made sense.
Piccadilly ran before me, misty in the rain, skirting St. James's, the abode of clubs and hotels, as well as gaming hells where fortunes were lost on a single throw of dice. As I walked again in the direction of Green Park, I reflected on Mr. Turner's propensity for wagers and his keen luck.
Leland had told me that Turner would wager on whether a cat would walk a certain direction or whether a maid would be sick or well. Arbitrary events. I wondered if his machinations with the document were part of a wager-can Mr. Turner procure a document from a French colonel and blackmail an English colonel with it?
I found this farfetched, but I wondered how Turner knew that the document would be important to Colonel Brandon and Imogene Harper.
It was only ten o'clock, and few of the haut ton were up and about. The streets were busy with servants and working people scurrying about to make ready for when their masters rose that afternoon. I strolled into Green Park, observing nannies with children who'd been brought to London with fathers and mothers for the Season.
Seeing them made me think about my own daughter running about the army camps with little regard for danger, and her frantic mother railing at me to stop her. Carlotta had been raised by a nanny and a governess and had expected her daughter to be looked after in the same manner. I had hired a wet nurse, naturally, but after that, Carlotta was dismayed to find that she'd have to take care of the baby herself.
I had not minded looking after Gabriella and had not understood my wife's distress. Louisa, too, had lavished attention on the child. But Carlotta had been miserable, and I had not been patient with her.
I wanted to see Gabriella again. I could taste the wanting in my mouth. I wanted to see Carlotta as well. I wanted to end things cleanly with divorce or annulment or whatever solicitors could cook up in their canny brains. I wanted to be free so that I could turn to the rest of my life.
Lady Breckenridge had told me that any victory she would have with me would be hollow. I did not want that to be true. I was an impetuous man and liked to rush into affairs of the heart, but this time, I wanted to ensure that what I had with Donata Breckenridge was real.
She'd thought the reason for my hesitation was that my heart was engaged elsewhere. The truth was that I wanted to go to her a free man, so that if I offered her my heart, it would come with no impediments.
The surprising thing was that Lady Breckenridge seemed not to mind that I had nothing to offer her. She asked nothing from me but myself, and I knew better than to sneer at such an offer.
I stood watching the nannies herd the children for a while longer, then turned my steps toward a hackney stand. I needed to consult Pomeroy, discover where Mrs. Harper lived, and then pay her a visit.
When I left Bow Street after speaking to Pomeroy, a lad in the street tried to pick my pocket. My hand closed around a bone-thin wrist, and the small, dirty-faced boy attached to it cursed at me.
I released him and gave him a thump on the shoulder. 'Clear off and go home.'
He jumped and fled as fast as he could, no doubt thinking me stupid for not marching him off to the magistrate on the spot. He must have been desperate-or else highly confident-to try to rob me just outside the Bow Street office.
Mrs. Harper, I'd learned from Pomeroy's clerk, had lodgings in a small court north of Oxford Street, near Portman Square. I decided to take care of another errand on the way, and took a hackney back to Mayfair and South Audley Street. At one o'clock, I was knocking on the door of Lady Breckenridge's townhouse. Barnstable opened the door to me.
'Has her ladyship arisen yet?' I asked.
'She has indeed, sir.' He looked critically at my face. 'Healing nicely, sir. Always swear by my herbal bath. If you'll come this way, sir.'
He led me upstairs to Lady Breckenridge's sitting room and left me there while he ascended to her rooms to inform her I'd called. I steeled myself for Lady Breckenridge to send me away, but before long, I heard her light footsteps approach.
I turned as Lady Breckenridge entered the room. She looked awake and alert, but she did not smile at me. Today she wore a light green morning gown and lace shawl and had pinned her hair under a white lace cap.
'I apologize for visiting you at such an appalling hour,' I said.
She lifted her brows. 'I would have called it a beastly hour myself, but never mind. My cook informs me that she has prepared tea for me. I can offer that and cakes if you like.'
'I am full of bread and coffee, thank you. I have been wandering about London eating from vendors' trays.'
She gave a slight shrug as though she did not care one way or the other. 'I assume you had some reason for this call.'
'I did.' I hesitated. I'd thought it a good idea to come when I'd made the decision, but Lady Breckenridge did not seem happy to see me. After the manner in which we had parted the last time, I could hardly blame her.
'I came to ask if you might give me an introduction to Lady Gillis,' I said. 'I would like to speak to her about the night Turner died, and I would like to look over the ballroom again.'
Lady Breckenridge folded her arms, and the lace shawl slid down her shoulders. 'I see.' Her voice was cool; her stance, unwelcoming.
'I have presumed,' I said quickly. 'I beg your pardon. I did not mean to take advantage of you.'
'You do presume.' She gave me a quiet look. 'But I am happy that you did.'
Something inside me relaxed. 'The last thing I want is to take advantage of you.'
She gave me a humorless laugh. 'The last thing? I do not believe you, you know. There must be plenty of other things that you do not want more than that. But very well, I will take you to visit Lady Gillis, so that you may once more look at the scene of the crime. Give me a day or two to speak to her. From what I've been told, Lady Gillis is most distraught about the murder, and has refused to leave her bed.'
