A Mystery at Carlton House

by Jennifer Ashley

  I sat, stretching out my leg, waiting for Denis to finish whatever he was writing and give me his attention. I was reminded of Poppy, making notes in her book, indicating she had no interest in the person who sought her until she was ready.

  Brewster had followed me inside and upstairs. He now stood uncomfortably by the door, he and the butler eying each other warily. Another guard—not the one who’d accosted me in St. Giles—stood next to the window, his gaze never leaving me.

  Denis’s pen ceased scratching, and he set it aside and looked up. James Denis, a fairly young man with dark hair, was in his thirties now, but his face had not changed at all since I’d met him nearly three years ago. He, like his house, remained unaltered.

  His eyes, blue, were as chill as Poppy’s but with a spark more of strength and confidence. The confidence was understandable. After all, Denis sat here in this comfortable, elegant house surrounded by guards who’d fight to the death for him, while Poppy worked out of the back room of a grubby pub.

  Denis looked from me to Brewster, his eyes becoming colder than ever. “Mr. Brewster,” he said. “Wait downstairs.”

  Brewster drew a quick breath. “Can’t do that, sir, begging your pardon. Captain’s hired me to look after him. That means watching over him, including when he’s with you. Especially when he’s with you. Sir.”

  Denis looked in no way surprised or outraged at Brewster’s response. “I am aware you have taken new employment. I will give you my word that no harm will come to the captain while he is in this room.”

  “What if he loses his temper as he does and attacks ye? Or tries. I should be here to hold him back and keep Robbie there from cudgeling him.”

  Robbie, the thug at the window, let his lips twitch. His fingers did as well, as though he anticipated reaching for said cudgel.

  “I will call for you,” Denis said, his voice hard. “If you prefer to wait on the upper landing, you may, but on no account will you disturb us until you’re sent for.”

  Brewster frowned and looked to me, waiting for me to tell him what to do. He was nervous with the situation, but he was taking refuge in the fact that he was not in charge. No matter what was decided, Brewster could claim he’d only done what he was told.

  I spread my hands. “It is evident that Mr. Denis will not speak to me until you go. Please wait downstairs, Mr. Brewster. I will endeavor to keep my temper in check.”

  Brewster did not like this, I could see, but he nodded, glared at Robbie and the butler, and then departed the room. His large boots made much noise on the stairs as he descended.

  Denis opened his desk drawer, slid the paper he’d been writing on inside, and closed the drawer again. The butler came forward and took the inkstand—a heavy silver base that housed an inkwell and a cup for holding pens. It was less ornate than any of those the prince had, but likely more valuable. Ornamentation did not mean worth.

  The butler shut the inkstand into a cupboard across the room, and Denis rested his hands on the now empty desk.

  “I am pleased Mr. Brewster has decided to look after you,” he said. “He is the sort of man who likes being useful.”

  I’d have more faith in Denis’s compassion for Brewster if he’d changed the inflection of his voice. “I had no choice after your man let me be nearly beaten to a pulp in St. Giles,” I said. “And then continued the beating. If not for Brewster, I might be dead or senseless somewhere, my family searching for me.”

  “I know.” Denis’s voice was icy. “I have replaced the man who was watching over you. He seemed to not understand I prefer to have you whole.”

  There was a silence. Even Robbie at the window and the butler were utterly still. I did not like to think what had become of the men he’d “replaced.”

  I decided to end the uncomfortable conversation. “What did you wish to speak to me about? In the middle of the night that could not wait for a more convenient time of day?”

  “Your appointment at Carlton House,” Denis said without hesitation. “I know you have been asked to look into the thefts there. I have called you in to tell you that I wish you to have nothing to do with it.”

  He finished the statement with a neutral look, as though what he said was perfectly reasonable, and I should have no trouble granting his wish.

  “Why?” I settled into my chair. “Have the thefts been made by you?”

  What might have been amusement flickered across his face. “I assure you, Captain, that if I chose to rob the Prince Regent, I would have the entire collection, not a few trinkets, and he would be none the wiser. But I wish you to leave it be. I should not like to see you come to harm because of it, as you already nearly have. You have a new daughter to think of.”

  I did. Anne would be fast asleep in her cot, the nurse snoring on the bed beside her. Thinking of my daughter made my heart turn over. She was tiny, vulnerable, and nearly hadn’t made it into the world at all.

  “You raise more questions than you answer,” I said. “Why should looking into these thefts be dangerous to me? Other than from tramping about illegal markets in the dark, I mean. Besides, I have no choice. Mr. Spendlove will not accept my refusal.”

  “In any case, you must make it. Mr. Spendlove will have to do without your assistance.”

  I frowned. “Mr. Spendlove has made clear that he’ll hang me—alongside you—if I do not help him with this problem. If I do not, he will find a way to arrest me for something and link it to you. I’d think you’d wish me to placate him.”

  “Mr. Spendlove does not concern me,” Denis said in clipped tones. “You have friends who are far more powerful than Mr. Spendlove, and who can protect you. Please do as I say and leave this problem alone.”

  “The Prince Regent himself has asked me,” I pointed out. “I rather think he’ll make it a command if he must. And I am not happy about the wretch Spendlove has arrested. He should not go to the dock for something he did not do. There is more going on here, I am certain, than first appears.”

  “Certainly there is. Which is why I will clear it up, and you will not. I will ensure this wretch as you call him, is not tried for the crime.”

  He had my interest. “How would you ensure that?”

  Denis’s fingers moved the slightest bit. “You know I will not answer such a question. I will have him withdrawn from Newgate very soon and back home with his family. But I will perform this deed only if you agree to cease looking into the matter.”

  I had opened my mouth to continue arguing, but as he finished, my hot words died on my lips.

  He handed me a dilemma. If I abandoned the quest, a man I suspected was innocent would go free. I knew Denis could have him released from Newgate if he truly wanted to—he had a hold over many magistrates in London.

  However, if I obeyed Denis, Spendlove would close his fist around me. He’d more or less told me I’d be in Newgate with the man he’d arrested—or in place of him—and I would be the one who needed to clear my name. Donata had solicitors to help me, but even they could do nothing if a magistrate and then a jury and judge decided I had assisted Mr. Denis in his crimes. They might not be able to put their hands on Denis, but Spendlove would enjoy making me pay in his stead.

  I would also be angering the Prince Regent if I walked away from the problem, a man known for holding a grudge. Would the prince retaliate somehow against Grenville and Donata if I disappointed him? Grenville and my wife had the birth and family connections to protect them, but even so, being shunned by the man who’d one day be king might have dire consequences for my friends.

  “What you ask is difficult,” I said sharply.

  “Not difficult. Stay home and advise Mr. Grenville to do the same, and Mr. Floyd will be released.”

  “Grenville too? Bloody hell—it hardly matters if the Regent looks with ill favor upon me, but Grenville has more to lose than I do.”

  “On the contrary.” Denis spread his hands on the desk. “You have much more to lose.”

  Spendlove had i
nsinuated the same. He’d looked around the splendid reception room of Donata’s house and told me all I’d gained could so easily be taken away from me.

  Spendlove had erroneously thought I’d longed for luxury, but he was wrong. I married Donata for herself—whether we lived in a mansion or a hovel was of no consequence to me. I had no doubt Donata could brighten up even a hovel; she’d receive her friends there as regally as a queen.

  My heart squeezed again as I thought of Anne, her tiny face, how she could hold my finger in her hand with surprising strength.

  “If you touch my wife or daughter,” I said, savagery in my voice. “I cannot answer for what I do. All your men will not be able to stop me.”

  Denis gave me a calm nod. “I know this. Your daughter is safe from me, Captain—she is an innocent and should be given every comfort. As is your wife. Her ladyship is a highly intelligent woman and not without connections herself. I was thinking more of your cousin, at whom I remain angry for his violence. I could have so many things happen to him for that—arrest and conviction for shooting at Brewster, or I can simply mete out my own justice. I have already told him so.”

  I was on my feet at once. “Marcus was here?”

  During my sojourn in Egypt, I discovered I had a cousin, one raised in Canada. We shared a mutual grandfather, and in fact, he was the rightful heir to my house in Norfolk, or so he claimed. Donata’s man of business was even now trying to verify that this was the case. Donata had been horrified when I’d suggested Marcus simply take over the house—I felt I had enough homes to live in now between South Audley Street, Oxfordshire, and the Breckenridge estate in Hampshire. Donata had told me tartly not to be a fool and had summoned her man of business.

  “I asked him to call upon me,” Denis said without alarm. “He shot at you and nearly fatally wounded Mr. Brewster. He needed to answer.”

  My temper rose. “Why did I not hear of this?”

  “Because it was none of your affair. It was private business between myself and Mr. Lacey. He apologized to me and agreed to do me one or two favors.”

  Marcus had been coerced into doing favors, Denis meant, just as I was being coerced now. “I’d be grateful if you would leave be members of my family,” I said, tight-lipped.

  “Whether he is truly a member of your family remains to be seen. However, he bears a remarkable resemblance to you, which could be useful.”

  I took a step forward. “I risked my life to carry out your wishes in Egypt, when all the while you were playing your own game. I have indebted myself to you, and I acknowledge that, but I have paid and paid. Do not use my cousin to make me pay more.”

  One day I would get myself across the desk and put my hands around Denis’s throat. Tonight would not be that night however. Robbie from the window was in front of me quickly, blocking my way like a stone wall.

  “Please sit down, Captain,” Denis said without moving. “I am not finished.”

  “I am.” I swung around to face the door, only to find the butler in front of me. I turned back to Denis. “To hell with you. You barter with Mr. Floyd’s life to force me to do your bidding. You dangle your hold on my cousin over me for the same.”

  Denis said nothing, made no move. I turned to charge out, ready to shove the butler aside if necessary, but the man stepped out of my way, his face impassive. I snatched up my walking stick and strode for the door, my anger making my pain negligible.

  I knew I’d never have left that room had not Denis allowed it. The thought made me angrier still. I slammed myself out and plunged down the stairs to where Brewster waited at the bottom, a scowl on his face. Another of Denis’s men next to him held my coat and hat.

  I grabbed the coat and thrust it on as I strode out of the house, nearly forgetting my hat in the process. It was cold enough that I was glad to jam the hat on my head, but not so cold to prevent me walking home, too agitated to look for a coach.

  Brewster lumbered after me. “I knew ye’d never keep yourself calm. What happened?”

  “You are well rid of your old master,” I said with a growl. “I vow to be rid of him too. Only now I must extricate my cousin along with me.”

  “Ah,” Brewster said, suddenly subdued. “Ye heard of that?”

  “Yes, just now.” I halted and eyed him narrowly. “What do you know of it?” We stood near the intersection of Curzon Street and South Audley, next to Chesterfield House, a mansion with a huge garden stuck like an island amidst the narrow townhouses around it.

  Brewster cleared his throat. “It’s what made Mr. Denis tell me to go. He had Mr. Lacey in, giving him the evil eye about shooting me and making our lives such hell in foreign parts. I stepped up and said I wasn’t bothered any more about it, that me and Mr. Lacey had made it up. Ye ain’t stuck alive in a grave with a man without thinking over a thing or two.”

  I gave Brewster a look of new respect. “Did you? That was good of you.”

  “Huh. It were stupid of me. His nibs looks at me in that cold way of his and says that I’d be better off taking a rest at home with me wife. What he truly meant was I weren’t to interrupt him when he were closing his hand around someone. So off I went.” Brewster heaved a long sigh.

  I stared at him in bafflement. “Why did you not say so? You told me he sacked you for going soft, for him knowing you wouldn’t pummel me if he ordered it.”

  “I didn’t like to say,” Brewster said, scowl in place. “And he did tell me I were going soft, that I was ‘developing a strange affection’ for the Lacey family. So I took meself home, not wanting anything to do with any of you.”

  And probably Brewster had not told me about Marcus being interviewed by Denis, knowing I’d storm to Denis and confront him about it, possibly getting myself hurt for my trouble. Denis also wouldn’t thank Brewster for spilling the tale.

  “I am sorry,” I said, heartfelt. “I promised to stand you many an ale—you deserve them. I mean somewhere better than that pub in Southwark that Poppy likes.”

  “Aye, I think they make horses piss in a barrel and call it drink,” Brewster muttered. “I will take your kind offer. But first we’ll send you home so your lady wife will know I haven’t got you killed. No matter how much ye try to do it to yourself.”

  * * *

  I assumed Donata would still be out when I returned home, as one in the morning was an early hour for the fashionable world, but to my surprise, I found her there. She waited for me, alone, in her boudoir, a room of golds and greens and comfortable furniture. This chamber had sustained damage during one of my investigations—by the same kind of incendiary device that had burned Denis’s study, but repairs had been done to restore it to its former splendor.

  A portrait of young Peter Breckenridge hung on the wall next to the fireplace, painted last summer, the lad standing straight and tall, a hound lounging at his feet. If anyone doubted Donata’s fondness for her children, the painting, hung where she could look at it every day, would dispel the doubt. A blank space on the other side of the fireplace waited for the portrait of Anne when she was old enough.

  Donata had not yet put off her evening finery of green velvet and ivory silk. I thought the room complemented her nicely.

  I could not have brought in the most pleasant odors, but my wife came to me and kissed me on the cheek. She did so absently, as though worried about more than what her husband had been getting up to.

  “I would have thought you still at the rout,” I said when she released me. “Ensconced with your friends and talking over those not fortunate enough to be there.”

  Donata heaved a sigh. She hadn’t removed the diamonds in her hair, and they sparkled in the candlelight.

  “We never went to the rout. I told Grenville about Marianne.” Donata’s words were flat and uninflected. “I thought it kinder to give him the news baldly and not have him hear about it from some evil-minded person while we were at Lady Featherstone’s.”

  “Ah.” I imagined Grenville becoming cool and still while Donata bro
ke the news. “Is he all right? Has he gone home?”

  Donata’s eyes flashed with irritation and anxiousness. “No, he has not gone home. He was dumbfounded, as I was, to learn Marianne had left him for Dunmarron. He didn’t believe me, I am afraid—though why he’d think I’d invent such a story, I have no idea. But he did not go home. He went off to find Dunmarron, and I fear what might come of it.”

  Chapter 10

  I listened in alarm. “Do you mean to tell me that Grenville has gone to storm the house of a duke? He’ll be up before a magistrate before he can blink.”

  “No,” Donata said through my last words. “The Duke of Dunces, it turns out, is staying at his club while he’s in London. As I told you, he only comes up for business, but apparently a bill is being debated in the Lords he has taken a keen interest in. He holes himself up at Brooks’s when he’s not sitting on his rump in debate, or wenching. So I am told.”

  “Damn and blast.” I had to go after Grenville before he did something irrevocable. “I have not set him the best precedent with my own behavior in Brooks’s. They’ll throw him to the pavement.”

  “I doubt it,” Donata said. “If you refer to what you did to Mr. Alandale, he deserved your wrath, and you did what so many wished they could. Most gentlemen couldn’t stick Alandale. Most don’t like Dunmarron either.”

  “Even so. Bloody hell.”

  If Grenville began to beat on a duke in the middle of Brooks’s subscription room, he might not escape arrest, even if it was only for disturbing the other members of the club.

  But no, I told myself. Grenville wasn’t likely to fly into a man with his fists—his temperament was different from mine. Grenville would call him out instead.