who it is.'
'Cooper.' Denis's gaze flickered. Had he been any other man, I would have sworn he showed uneasiness, even concern. 'Let me see.'
I stepped aside to let him through the door. Denis removed his hat and handed it to a startled Matthias, then he swept his cloak behind his shoulders, entered the windmill, and got down on one knee. Grenville obligingly brought the lantern low.
Denis touched the dead man's chin, the only thing not battered. He stayed there in his half-kneel, staring at the wreck of the victim's face.
'It is not Cooper,' he said.
Did I detect a faint loosening of the shoulders… in relief? I'd never seen Denis show an emotion other than irritation or anger, and even those had been muted.
'Who, then?' I asked.
'His name is Ferguson. William Ferguson.'
'Bill Ferguson?' Grenville asked in surprise. 'Good God.'
The name meant nothing to me. Grenville noticed my blank look and continued, 'One hell of a fighter. Unbeatable. Retired a few years ago, to the dismay of the Fancy.'
The 'Fancy' consisted of mostly upper-class gentlemen who were avid admirers of the sport of boxing. Prize fighting was illegal, but having two men fight for show was not, and boxers and their sponsors found many ways around the laws. The private betting that went on among the Fancy moved fortunes.
'Ferguson came to work for me a year ago,' Denis said. 'He'd tired of every youth wanting to prove themselves on him, and he sought obscurity. He also needed money.' He spoke in a flat voice, whatever emotion I thought I had seen gone. 'Who did this?'
Again, he directed his words at me. 'We do not know,' I said. 'Grenville chanced upon him here not thirty minutes ago. I've been at my house all afternoon, trying to keep a few walls standing at least.'
The increase in Denis's frown as he got to his feet told me he hadn't been informed of events here. I leaned down and lifted a heavy piece of wood, which had once been part of the stair leading to the next floor. It was covered with dried blood.
I showed it to Denis. 'Someone fought him and fought him hard.'
'This Cooper fellow, perhaps?' Grenville asked.
Denis swung to Grenville so quickly that Grenville, who had as much sangfroid as Denis ever did, took a step back.
'No,' Denis said, his voice going colder still. 'Cooper would not have done this.'
'Is he here?' I asked. 'He left my house early this afternoon, without saying good-bye. I assumed he'd returned here.'
'He is not at the house,' Denis said. He obviously was not at the crowd around the windmill either. 'What the devil was Ferguson doing out here?' This he asked of the men at the doorway. Not one of them answered.
'Looking for your artwork, I imagine,' I said.
'Looking for it,' Denis repeated. 'And Cooper? Why was he with you, Captain?'
'The same reason. He was worried about what you would do when you arrived and found Easton gone, the artwork nowhere in sight. I sent Easton away-Cooper and your men had nothing to do with that.'
I sensed every witness within earshot tensing. These men had been in a frenzy all day to find the paintings before Denis arrived so that his anger at their failure to kill Easton might be assuaged. The fact that Easton had run away, leaving the artwork hidden, had not yet been conveyed to Denis.
Denis's expression did not change. 'I fully expected that you'd help Easton flee,' he said. 'Cooper should have understood that.'
His dark blue eyes held no ire, but I grew suddenly angry.
Of course. If Denis had wanted Easton dead, a silent assassin in the night could have done the deed quite easily, and Denis would not have bothered to warn Easton at all. But he'd sent me, because he'd wanted Easton to run, not die-for whatever reason, only Denis knew. He'd used me and my ever-present sense of honor.
I broke away from him. 'Matthias, find something with which to cover the body. We'll need the magistrate and coroner out here.'
'No.' Denis's word was flat and final. 'He was one of mine. I will take care of it.'
'Someone fought and killed a very strong man,' I said. 'The killer might still be wandering the countryside, a danger to others. He should be found.'
'And I will find him. A coroner will tell us only what we already know-that Ferguson died from blows to his head, delivered by a person or persons unknown. That will be the end. Or the coroner and magistrate will accuse and arrest someone at random, probably one of my men, guilty or innocent. Tell me what good that would do, Captain.'
As we spoke, Grenville removed his greatcoat and handed it to Matthias, who spread it over Ferguson, lying battered and silent. The man who'd accompanied Denis from the house directed others to fetch a board on which to carry Ferguson's body.
I could only let them. Denis was correct about the conclusions the local magistrate and coroner would draw. Many of Denis's men had criminal pasts, and it would be simple for a magistrate to pick one at random to arrest, not caring much which he chose to be the culprit. Denis would at least try to ferret out the truth.
Denis went outside again, followed by Grenville. The others got Ferguson onto a makeshift litter and carried him back toward the house. I was struck by the care they all took of him, if not showing grief then at least reverence and respect.
Denis remained behind as the train of men moved slowly up the path. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to Grenville. 'I wish to speak to Captain Lacey by himself. Please take your footman and go home.'
Grenville did not much like taking orders. He sent me a swift glance, but I nodded at him.
'Tell Lady Southwick not to wait supper for me,' I said. 'And bid Lady Breckenridge good night for me if I do not return before she retires.'
Grenville kept his cool demeanor in place, gave me back the lantern, and tipped his hat. 'Good night then, Lacey. I'll have brandy waiting for you on your return. Matthias.'
Matthias gave me a nod as well and fell into step with his master. They began their walk eastward, in the direction of Southwick's grand home, leaving me alone in the night with James Denis.
Chapter Six
Denis and I stood in silence. The wind was rising, that steady Norfolk wind that blew from the North Sea and straight through everything in its path. Clouds tore across the moon, giving the land an eerie glow.
'Easton had become a problem,' Denis said. He gazed across the flat farmland around the quiet windmill, its job of pumping water from the earth finished. 'You were the best person to take care of that problem.'
'Meaning you did not want him dead. Of course not; you can always use him again, or at least his contacts. So, send a cavalryman, a local son Easton would trust, to warn him off, to help him escape, and you are rid of your problem for now. He stole from you. Now that he's running far and fast, you can recover your property.'
Denis nodded without looking at me. 'My surprise is not that you have discerned this, but that it took you a day to do so.'
I realized something else. In this place, in the darkness, was the first time since I'd met Denis that he'd let himself be alone with me, no one to guard him. I had my sword in my cane, and I was strong. He knew what I was capable of, and yet… here we were.
'The men who work for me understand that it is dangerous work,' Denis said. 'But I pledge to take care of them. I do not like it when I fail.'
His voice was flat, uninflected. But I could see from the rigidity of his back that he was angry. Exceedingly so.
'Whenever your men have been harmed, it has happened only when they've been out of your reach,' I pointed out. 'Ferguson came here with Cooper in a frantic rush to find the artwork before you arrived. Cooper was
