Grenville's. When Grenville inclined his head at him, Stacy started over.
Grenville extended a hand to him when he reached us. 'Stacy,' Grenville said. 'You remember Captain Lacey. Chat with him a moment, will you, and I will snatch up this horse while I can still afford it.' Grenville strode off, and Stacy chuckled at his back.
'He makes a good joke,' he said.
I studied the man beside me while he watched Grenville walk away. Jeremiah Stacy was a few inches taller than I was, with oddly long and thin limbs, as though someone had taken a normal man and stretched him. He had dark hair and blue eyes and a reasonably handsome face, leaning on this side of plain. Stacy looked down at me without concern, genially wondering why Grenville had left me in his care.
'Will you walk with me, Mr. Stacy?' I asked. 'I would like to speak with you privately.'
He looked surprised. 'Very well.' He gestured toward the corner of the enclosure nearest the loose boxes. 'There?'
'That will do.' I fell into step beside him, waiting until we were out of earshot of the other gentlemen before I began. 'I asked Grenville to bring you here today on purpose so I could speak to you.'
'Oh? What about?'
I heard no trace of trepidation in his voice, as though he had a clear conscience. I plunged on. 'I saw you last night. In Covent Garden.'
Stacy nodded. 'I attended the theatre with my wife.'
'Not at the theatre. You left it early.'
'I did. To meet friends for cards.' He studied me. 'What are you getting at, Captain?'
Grenville reached us before I could expound. He looked satisfied. 'Excellent. Featherstone was in a hurry to sell, so I got close to my price, only a little inflated because Alvanley decided to stick in his oar. Alvanley used to emulate Brummell, now he wants to emulate me. Such a tragedy he cannot have his own personality.'
Stacy laughed. 'Congratulations, Grenville.'
'Thank you. Carry on, Lacey.'
'You left your wife and daughter at the theatre,' I said to Stacy, 'and went off to play cards.'
'I have just said so. My daughter and wife were to attend a soiree together after that. We often arrange our evenings thus.'
'On your way, your carriage rolled through Covent Garden. The carriage halted, and you descended. You spoke to a game girl and invited her into your carriage with you.'
Stacy stopped, his cheeks burning a sudden red. 'Why do you say so?'
'Because I saw you.'
'Oh, did you?' His look turned hostile. 'And what business is it of yours?'
'Then you do not deny that you did this,' I said.
Stacy looked at Grenville for support, but Grenville only pinned him with a black stare. 'Always thought you marched the straight and narrow, Stacy.'
Stacy shot a fearful glance at the crowd of aristocrats and dandies under the colonnade. 'For God's sake, keep your voices down. I couldn't… I do not want anyone to know.'
'Least of all your wife?' I asked.
'Oh, you would not be so much of a bounder to tell her, would you? She would die of shame.'
'Your secret is safe with us,' Grenville assured him. 'At least for now. As long as you tell us what you did.'
Color flooded Stacy's face, and he regarded Grenville with distaste. 'What the devil do you think I did? Why should you want to know?'
'Do not worry,' Grenville said. 'The captain and I are not voyeurs. What I mean is, where did you go? How long did you stay with the girl, and where is she now?'
'As I say, what business is it of yours?'
I leaned on my walking stick, giving him a cold stare worthy of James Denis himself. 'Tell us, Stacy.'
Stacy's eyes glittered in sudden worry. 'How should I know where the devil she is? I did what I always do. My coachman drove through the quietest streets he could find, while…' He trailed off. 'And then returned me to Covent Garden. I set her down there and went on. To play cards, as I said.'
'Do you do this often?' I asked sharply.
'Yes.' His gaze shifted. 'Rather too often.'
Grenville adjusted his hat and gave a sniff, his way of showing disapproval. 'I was surprised when Lacey mentioned that he'd seen you. I would not have pegged you for it.'
'It really is my business, Grenville,' Stacy said desperately.
I cleared my throat. 'For myself, I do not care for your reasons. I want to know whether you enjoyed yourself with a girl called Black Bess or a girl called Mary Chester.'
Stacy gasped. 'Black Bess?'
'Specifically, I want to know whether you promised either of them a good sum of money to take up with you.'
'Dear God. What has Bess been telling you?'
'Bess has told me nothing.' My voice went harsh. 'She has disappeared, and Mary Chester has been murdered, and I want to know what you had to do with it.'
Chapter Thirteen
Stacy went pasty white. 'Murdered? Bloody hell.'
'You knew Bess and Mary, then?' I demanded.
'I do not always know their names. Black Bess told me hers. I don't remember a Mary.'
'Dyed blond hair, pretty. Came from Wapping.'
Stacy drew a ragged breath. 'You don't have a flask on you, do you, Grenville?'
Grenville produced a silver flask of brandy from his pocket and handed it to Stacy. Stacy opened it and drank deeply. 'Thank you.'
'Mary Chester,' I prodded. 'Had you been with her?'
'Possibly. Several weeks ago, if she is the same girl. I haven't seen her since. That is the truth. I certainly did not murder her. What do you take me for?'
'I take you for a man who goes trawling for game girls,' I said. 'Why you choose to is your own business, as you say. They likely appreciate your coin and your fine carriage on a rainy night. But Bess and Mary went missing, and you were with them both.'
Stacy's face was still wan, the brandy clearly not helping. 'Coincidence.'
Grenville drew out his quizzing glass and peered at Stacy through it. Stacy flinched. Grenville examining a man thusly was preliminary to said man being dismissed as a vulgarian. Grenville doing so in front of a large crowd at Tatt's could ruin a man.
'You know, Stacy,' Grenville said in a cool, rather bored manner. 'Slumming can be a recipe for the clap.'
Stacy reddened again, a vein pulsing in his neck.
I recognized that Grenville was very angry. I generally blustered and threatened when enraged, but Grenville turned ice cold. The death of Mary and the disappearances of Bess and Gabriella had distressed him, and the thought that Stacy, one of his own crowd and a friend, could have anything to do with it enraged him.
'Damnation, Grenville,' Stacy said. 'I am not the only one who does such a thing.'
The quizzing glass didn't move. 'Yes, but you are the only slummer who has drunk from my flask. Keep it, there's a good fellow. I hardly want it back.'
Stacy's mouth opened and closed, but before he could respond, a new voice broke in. 'Extolling your own virtues, are you, Grenville?'
A man strolled to us, one of a height between mine and Grenville's, his tailed coat hanging from broad shoulders. His breeches and boots hugged legs muscled from riding, but although his garb was fashionable, he wore
