'And she spoke like a respectable English girl?'
'She did, though I detected a faint accent. Prussian maybe, or French.'
I felt hotness rush through me, followed by tingling in my fingers. 'That was her. It must have been.' I gave him a hard stare. 'If you harmed her in any way…'
Stacy's eyes widened. 'I did not. I promise you, Captain, I directed her to Russel Street and left her alone. I do know the difference between a street girl and a young lady. Good Lord, she was the age of my own daughter.'
His words rang with sincerity, but I would not take them at face value. 'I hope you are right,' I said softly.
Grenville looked Stacy up and down with his quizzing glass. 'So do I. You are our primary suspect, Stacy. Mind what you do in Covent Garden. There is a massive search going on for Lacey's daughter, which includes Bow Street Runners and men who work for James Denis. I should be careful, were I you.'
McAdams clapped Stacy on the shoulder. 'I advise you to inform your solicitor, my friend. He may be able to bring a case of defamation of character.'
Stacy gave McAdams a cold look. 'I will be fine.' He stalked off, but instead of joining the group watching the next horses to be exercised, he departed through the walkway and was gone.
I handed one of my cards to McAdams. 'So that your seconds may call on mine. Good day.' I inclined my head and walked away under the curious stares of those not looking at the horses.
Grenville, on the other hand, cut McAdams dead. I watched from the colonnade as he turned his back, removed his snuffbox, and took a pinch, blatantly ignoring McAdams. Every man turned to stare as Grenville calmly replaced his snuffbox and walked away from McAdams without acknowledging him.
As I joined Grenville to seek out Tattersall and arrange delivery of the stallion, the assembled dandies, earls, and barons began to gabble like a mad flock of geese. Not one of them spoke to McAdams.
Grenville invited me back to Grosvenor Street so that he could change his suit before resuming the search for Gabriella with me. Ensconced in his dressing room while his valet, Gautier, dressed him, I sipped a much-needed brandy.
'Do you think any of what Stacy told us was the truth?' Grenville asked, cranking his head back so Gautier could tie his neckcloth. 'Or was it all rubbish?'
'He admitted that he saw the girls and was with them,' I said. 'But after that, who knows? I'd like to borrow your coachman and have him help me talk to Stacy's coachman. He'd be an eyewitness to everything Stacy does. Whether he's a loyal servant or loves to gossip about his betters remains to be seen.'
'Take him.' Grenville said, waving a hand at me and causing his valet to cluck in disapproval. 'As for McAdams, he is certainly worth investigating, far more likely to lure girls to their doom. You heard what he said about beating them. The man is disgusting.' He held out his arms for his coat, and Gautier slid it over his slim shoulders. 'I dislike duels, but I will gladly hold the pistol box for you on this one. Although McAdams may not last long enough to meet you, now that I've cut him. He might flee England altogether.'
'He seems resilient to opinion,' I said.
'Well, he will not be for long. If I cut him dead, then other men will follow suit. They know I only cut for a good reason. Alvanley muttered to me as I left that it was time the boor got his comeuppance. Alvanley is an imitator, but in truth he has a great deal of power.'
'Perhaps we will get McAdams for murder, and there will be no need to cut him.'
I liked the idea of McAdams as murderer, because watching him stand in the dock would satisfy me. I felt a little sorry for Stacy-not too sorry, however-and hoped McAdams proved to be the culprit.
I would check with Thompson to see how Mary Chester had actually died. Perhaps McAdams began his violent ways and went a bit too far. Perhaps the prior bruises on her throat had come from him, indicating that he'd already enjoyed being rough with her. Perhaps this time, she had died, and in panic, McAdams had hidden the body inside Bottle Bill's doorstep. If McAdams went often to Covent Garden, he'd have become familiar with Bottle Bill and his habits, as we all were. The magistrate would easily believe that Bill had become violent under the influence of drink and killed Mary, intentionally or no.
'I will pot him one way or another,' I said. 'I'd like to speak to Marianne as well. She might know Stacy if he haunts Covent Garden. I'd like her opinion of him.'
Marianne, like Lady Breckenridge, was a shrewd observer. As an actress, she'd have seen the seamier side of the upper classes and been privy to gossip that gentlemen wouldn't dream of taking home to their wives, daughters, and sisters.
Grenville looked uncomfortable. 'I am afraid you cannot speak to Marianne. I meant to tell you but hadn't a chance at Tatt's. She's gone missing as well-but do not be alarmed. She went as she usually does, taking her best hat and a handful of guineas and telling my footman she'd be back when she was ready.'
'Damn and blast her,' I said feelingly. 'Why did she decide to disappear just now, when girls are going missing left and right?'
'I really could not say,' Grenville answered. His lips were pale. He told Gautier, who was busily brushing the coat, to run off somewhere. The valet nodded, laid down the brush, and discreetly departed.
Grenville faced me. 'You warned me from the very beginning about her. I wish to God I'd heeded you, but the woman intrigued me. I gave her clothes, money, jewels, a house and servants, and then my carriage. I've made a grand fool of myself, haven't I? If it ever comes out that she runs off to other men whenever she pleases, I'll be a laughingstock.'
He exhaled slowly. 'I have decided, Lacey. I will not see her again. When she returns, will you please tell her for me that I am finished chasing her? She may keep the money and jewelry and do whatever she likes with them. I no longer care.'
His hands fell to his sides, and his cool mask slipped. I'd never seen him so dejected.
'You would break her heart,' I said. 'She truly cares for you.'
Grenville gave me a bitter laugh. 'She has a damn odd way of showing it. I wish she hadn't chosen now of all times to go, because I am worried that she too has become a victim. I believe I'd rather hear that she is in the arms of her lover than that she is dead under a pile of rubbish near the Strand.'
I eased back in the chair and made my decision. Marianne had asked me to tell him, and as much as I did not want any part of this business, they'd both fully dragged me into it. Besides, I counted Grenville a friend and was fond of Marianne, in a way. I hated to see them at cross-purposes like this.
'She is not cuckolding you, Grenville,' I said. 'She's gone to Berkshire.'
Grenville stilled, and an odd look came over his face. 'Berkshire?'
'A small house near Hungerford, to be exact.'
Color flooded his cheeks, then he pointed a long finger at me. 'You knew why she went last time, and you never told me, blast you.'
'Marianne begged me to keep her secret. Two days ago, I saw her in Covent Garden, and she told me she was thinking of making her way to Berkshire again. This time, however, she asked me to tell you why. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how well Marianne listens.'
'Indeed,' Grenville said in a cool voice. 'Pray go on.'
He was angry again, at me this time. I felt the full weight of his wrath, just as McAdams must have.
'Marianne has a son.'
Grenville stared at me a moment as though waiting for me to go on, then his black eyes focused sharply. 'A son?'
'He is about seven years old, and he is a halfwit.'
'A halfwit.' Grenville frowned. 'Lacey, you had better not be inventing this. Is she inventing it?'
'I've met him. His name is David. Marianne keeps him in a little house near Hungerford and pays a woman to look after him. That is where all the money you give her goes, to buy David's food and his clothes and to pay for his upkeep. She would not tell me who the father was, only that he'd died years ago. I believe her.'
I lifted my brandy to my lips and drank, but for the first time since I'd been allowed to partake of Grenville's fine stock of brandies, I barely tasted the liquid.
Grenville's face was utterly still, his gaze fixed, his lips parted. He remained thus for a long time, watching me while I watched him.
