'You seem confident,' I said.
Lady Breckenridge smiled. 'My dear Gabriel, you are handsome, polite, and unattached. She will see you.'
'But penniless,' I reminded her.
'Some ladies do not mind this. Sit in my box tonight, and we will visit her afterward. We are in Russel Street now. Shall I have my coachman set you down here?'
I agreed, and she ordered her coachman to stop.
'Until this evening, then,' she said as I descended. 'And tell your Miss Simmons not to accost you under the piazza.' She chuckled as the footman closed the door behind me, and then the carriage pulled away.
I smiled to myself and tapped my way down Grimpen Lane to my rooms.
Bartholomew greeted me with hot coffee, and I reflected, as I often did, what a luxury it was to have a valet in training.
I found a letter from Sir Montague Harris waiting for me. As I read it, I mused that I envied his network of resources. He'd managed to find, through inquiries, a man who'd known Mr. Bennington on the Continent.
Said gentleman, a solicitor by trade, had moved from Italy to London shortly after Bennington had. Bennington, the man had told Sir Montague, had come to Italy from the north of England. That interested me, because Bennington certainly did not have a north country accent.
The next statement interested me further. This man who'd known Bennington said that Bennington had been known as Mr. Worth, but at his marriage five years ago had changed his name to his wife's family name, Bennington. Why he'd wanted to, the man did not know, but then, Bennington-or Worth-had always been whimsical.
Armed with this knowledge, Sir Montague had found the man of business of this Bennington-Worth and visited him.
Yes, Mr. Worth had spent years in Italy, said the man of business, and arranged to have his name changed on his marriage. Mr. Worth did have a legacy; he'd inherited a fortune about ten years ago when a Scottish gentleman, Mr. Worth's fourth cousin, had died. Mr. Worth drew a large sum-how much, the man of business refused to specify-every quarter, a substantial living.
The man of business had of course asked Mr. Worth why he wanted to change his name. Mr. Worth had explained that his wife was already so famous, it would avoid confusion if she were to continue to be known as Mrs. Bennington, and her husband as Mr. Bennington. The man of business had been skeptical but had not pursued it further. No, Mr. Worth was not heavily in debt. He paid his bills regularly and so was not hiding from creditors or moneylenders.
Mr. Worth seemed to have a stellar reputation. And yet, the drawling, sardonic man had married a woman he despised and insisted on taking her name.
Make of that what you will, Sir Montague had finished his letter. I am certain you will come to some interesting conclusions.
For some reason, I imagined that Sir Montague had already formed his own conclusions and was waiting for me to catch up. I could see him smiling as he wrote.
I read the letter again, shook my head, then sat down to pen a note to Mrs. Bennington, asking to see her again that night.
Later, I lounged in Lady Breckenridge's box with Lady Aline and a few other ladies and gentlemen of the ton with whom I'd become nodding acquaintances. Mrs. Bennington had granted me leave to visit her an hour after the performance, at her house in Cavendish Square. Grady would admit me, the note delivered to me in the box said, even if Mrs. Bennington were running late.
The play seemed to take a long time tonight. As usual, the audience talked to each other while the drama dragged on; they paid attention to the stage only when Mrs. Bennington stepped upon it. She was particularly brilliant tonight, her voice clear and ringing, the character coming to life through her.
Grenville's box remained dark and unused. I heard people speculate on where Grenville was hiding this evening. I ventured the opinion, when asked, that he'd chosen to have a quiet night at home, but no one believed me. Because I had no idea where he was myself, I could not elaborate.
After the performance, Lady Breckenridge offered her carriage to take me to Mrs. Bennington's in Cavendish Square. She accompanying me, of course. I accepted. I knew that Lady Breckenridge was as curious as I, and she deserved to hear the explanation of how her lace got into the pocket of Mr. Turner.
I wanted also to bring Grenville. Something was in the wind between Grenville and Mrs. Bennington, and I did not want to chance that it had nothing to do with Turner's murder. Grenville would not thank me, but in the choice between saving Colonel Brandon and not offending Grenville, I had to choose Colonel Brandon's life.
Lady Breckenridge acquiesced and told her coachman to drive first to Grosvenor Street. Grenville, however, was not at home. Matthias, who answered the door, informed me that Mr. Grenville again was spending the evening in his house on Clarges Street.
I spent a few moments wondering whether I should intrude upon Grenville's privacy, then I decided to intrude. I told Lady Breckenridge's coachman to drive us to Clarges Street, and in ten minutes' time, we stopped before the house.
'I will have to ask you to remain here while I go inside,' I said to Lady Breckenridge. 'There are reasons.'
She laughed. 'My dear Lacey, it would hardly do for a lady of the ton to enter a house in which a gentleman keeps his mistress.'
'You know far too many things for comfort, Donata.'
'Gossip is popular entertainment. After you told me about Grenville's little actress, I put two and two together. There is little I do not know.'
The thought unnerved me a bit. I descended from the carriage into the rain and plied the doorknocker. The haughty maid, Alicia, opened the door and looked me up and down.
Lucius Grenville employed the best-trained servants in London, even more so than Lady Gillis's elegant horde. Alicia stolidly refused to admit me. I had to talk long and hard to convince her that the matter was of utmost urgency.
She at last let me in but forbade me to move past the front hall. She sent the footman Dickon upstairs with a message for Grenville, then Alicia hovered nearby, as though not trusting me not to dash up the stairs the instant her back was turned.
After an appallingly long wait, a door opened above, and I heard Grenville's footsteps on the stairs.
In the year or so that I'd known Grenville, I had never seen him in dishabille. Even now he was in only relative dishabille. He wore pantaloons and a lawn shirt covered with a silk dressing gown, and his hair was a bit mussed. His expression was wary and not a little annoyed.
'Lacey,' he said in his cool man-about-town voice. 'I respect and admire you, but this is hardly the best time for a visit.'
'I realize that,' I answered. 'But I was on my way to see Mrs. Bennington, and I hoped you would come with me.'
Grenville stopped his descent. 'Mrs. Bennington? Why?'
'Because I believe she is the key to this murder. I thought you might want to be present.'
Grenville came alert, all thoughts of privacy forgotten. 'Yes. Yes I do. I must dress. Wait here.'
'Be quick, please. I do not want Mrs. Bennington's dragon of a maid to refuse to admit me because I am late for the appointment.'
Without answering, Grenville turned and dashed back up the stairs. The sound of a door banging followed.
I waited while the clock ticked steadily in the corner. I wished that Grenville could be the sort of gentleman to simply snatch up a greatcoat and dash out the door, but no. He'd once told me that if he were seen on the streets of London without waistcoat and cravat and the proper footwear, the newspapers would be filled with stories that he'd run mad. Not even to catch a murderer would Grenville take chances with his reputation.
When the door banged again, I looked up in anticipation, but the voice that sailed down to me was not Grenville's.
