Brandon admired.'
'Mrs. Brandon?' I asked in surprise.
'Yes, sir. She expressed a liking for Cook's lemon cakes when she visited, and asked for the directions, so that her own cook might prepare them for her.'
'I see.' I took the paper. 'I am certain that Mrs. Brandon will thank her.'
'Not at all, sir.' He saw us out the door, and then Lady Breckenridge's footmen took us in hand. I tucked the paper into my coat and climbed into the carriage, trying to stem my excitement.
Lady Breckenridge saw through me. 'What is it, Gabriel? You look positively triumphant.'
I settled back and stretched my leg toward the box of hot coals while she watched me. 'I now know what became of the letter.'
Her eyes widened. 'Do you? Shall you retrieve it at once, then? What direction shall I give my coachman?'
'It will keep. First, I would like to return to Bow Street and look at the scrap of lace that Pomeroy took from the dead man's pocket.'
Without waiting for explanation, Lady Breckenridge told her coachman to drive to Bow Street. Then she sat back and looked at me. 'You are very interested in this lace. Do you think a woman did this murder?'
'Not necessarily,' I answered.
'But the lace was caught outside the door. Perhaps a woman slipped through the passage and tore her gown on the protruding nail.'
'No, if I am correct, the lace was used to mark the door to the anteroom. So that when the killer hastened down the rather dark servants' passage, with the doors that look all alike, he would know which to go through.'
'Then that dismisses the idea that one of the Gillis servants had anything to do with it,' Lady Breckenridge said. 'They would have no need to mark the door.'
I hadn't thought any of Lord Gillis's staff had done this, thinking they'd be wise enough not to kill Turner inside the house, where servants were well supervised and anything out of the ordinary quickly noticed. Though when Leland had first revealed Turner's proclivities, I'd briefly pictured Turner making advances to one of the robust footmen, and said footman taking exception, with Brandon's knife somehow convenient.
But then, if a hearty footman had grown angry at me and picked up a knife, I'd certainly try to fight him off, shout, or run away. No, Turner had not been expecting the blow, which meant it was a person he thought entirely harmless.
'You seem to be sanguine suddenly about the whereabouts of Colonel Brandon's letter,' Lady Breckenridge said. 'This after your near despair when we could not find it in the house.'
'If it is not where I think it is, then it has been destroyed.'
'You believe Louisa Brandon has it,' Lady Breckenridge said with sharp perception. 'You believe that she came to retrieve it on her husband's orders. Perhaps she raved over the cakes and demanded the recipe in order to slip down to the ballroom and find the paper.'
'I imagine she truly liked the cakes. Louisa is fond of lemon.'
She gave me a steady gaze. 'Mrs. Brandon must love her husband very much.'
'She does.'
Lady Breckenridge laid her hand on my arm and did not speak further.
We rattled through the streets of London against a breeze that held the promising warmth of spring. Still it was chilly enough that I was grateful for the warm interior of the coach. When we reached Bow Street, I told Lady Breckenridge to stay inside the carriage. The rooms of the magistrate's house were no place for a lady.
Pomeroy, luckily, was in. I asked him what he had done with the things he took from Turner's coat. For a moment, as he paused in thought, I feared he had rid himself of them, or perhaps sent them to Turner's father.
'I still have 'em,' he said, to my relief. 'Upstairs. Was saving them for the trial, in case they could tell us anything about how Mr. Turner got himself stuck.'
He took me to a small room on the second floor and removed a wooden box from a cupboard. Pomeroy emptied the contents onto the table and separated what he said were Henry Turner's belongings. They consisted of a snuffbox, a few silver coins, and the scrap of lace that Mrs. Harper had mentioned.
I picked up the lace. As I'd suspected, the ends were blunt, not raveled. It had been cut. The lace was stiff, because, I saw when I examined it, strands of real gold had been woven through the silk thread.
I closed my hand around it. I knew which lady at the ball had worn this lace, because I had seen her in the gown after the ball was over. 'May I take this?' I asked Pomeroy.
'It ain't much use to me,' he said. 'Mr. Turner didn't pull it off the coat or dress of his killer. It was tucked, nice and safe, inside his waistcoat pocket. Can't imagine what for.'
'Thank you.'
'The trial is in four days, Captain,' Pomeroy said. His usually jovial face was grim.
'I know. But Brandon did not murder Mr. Turner. He is only guilty of misplaced honor.'
'Best you come up with a way to prove it, sir, or the colonel will swing.'
'I am proving it now, Sergeant. Good afternoon.'
I descended through the house and outside to the carriage. 'Did you find it?' Lady Breckenridge asked, her eyes animated with interest.
I climbed in next to her, took her gloved hand, and laid the scrap of lace into it.
She stared at it. 'Good Lord.' Her face lost color. 'You said this was found in Mr. Turner's pocket? How on earth did it get there?'
'I hoped that you would tell me,' I said. 'This lace is from the ball gown you wore to the Gillises' last week, is it not? I remember seeing you in it that night when I arrived at Mrs. Brandon's.'
Chapter Seventeen
Lady Breckenridge looked up at me, bewildered. 'Yes, this is from my gown. But I never gave this lace to Henry Turner. I confess to be amazed.'
'I would be less surprised if it looked to be torn,' I said. 'Anyone might have found a bit of lace that had fallen from your gown while you danced. But this was deliberately cut- '
'I know,' Lady Breckenridge broke in impatiently. 'I cut it myself. For Mrs. Bennington.'
It was my turn to be amazed. 'Mrs. Bennington?'
'Yes. We were in a withdrawing room-my maid was helping me into my dancing slippers, and Mrs. Bennington expressed rather gushing admiration for my gown, especially the lace. She asked me for a snippet so she might have her dressmaker find some like it. So I cut a little bit off where it would not show and gave it to her.'
I took the lace back from Lady Breckenridge and laid it on my glove. The innocent scrap glittered with wires of gold against my glove's cheap leather. It was feminine and pretty, yet strong, like Lady Breckenridge herself.
'This killer is of ruthless and nasty mind,' I said. 'He does not mind using another man's dagger to do the deed, nor stealing from an innocent woman to assist him. Every clue left behind will point to a different person, each completely removed from the crime. The killer planned this with deftness and care then sat back and laughed while we scrambled about to solve it.'
Lady Breckenridge watched me with intelligent eyes. 'What will you do?'
I thrust the lace into my pocket. 'Speak to Mrs. Bennington. I wish to ask her why she wanted a piece of your lace and what she did with it after you gave it to her.'
'She is performing tonight.'
'I will make an appointment to see her after the play. She invited me once before; she might be persuaded to invite me again.'
'She will.'
