A Mystery at Carlton House

by Jennifer Ashley

  I opened the door and put my head out. “Barnstable!” I’d never grown used to bell pulls, and I knew Barnstable would be lurking somewhere close. When he appeared on the landing, I continued, “Summon her ladyship’s carriage. I am going out.”

  “And I am going with you,” Donata said at once.

  “Not to Brooks’s,” I said. “If a woman rushes inside, the entire building will fall down, I am certain. Or at least all the gentlemen in it will expire from apoplexy.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not intend to do anything so tasteless as to darken the door of a gentlemen’s club. I will wait in the coach. Grenville will need soothing down when you bring him out. He was most distraught.”

  “Could you not have kept him here?” I asked. “Had Barnstable sit on him if nothing else?”

  Barnstable had arrived in time to hear this statement. “I assure you, sir, her ladyship and I tried to dissuade Mr. Grenville from leaving.”

  “He did not tear out of here in a fury,” Donata said. “More in disbelief. He said very much what I did when we saw the letter. The Duke of Dunces? It is unbelievable. I imagine he is off to see whether the story is true or a bizarre joke.”

  “Well, we had better go and make certain,” I said. “Thank you, Barnstable.”

  “I would have sat on him if I’d thought it would do any good, sir,” Barnstable answered. “I would have called your large valet as well, but he is out visiting his brother.”

  I had a small but only flickering hope that Bartholomew and Matthias had noted Grenville departing from here and accompanied him. But we would soon see.

  By the time the carriage rumbled to the front door, Donata’s maid had helped her don her wraps, and Brewster had come up from the kitchen where he’d been warming himself. I told Brewster he ought to go home, but he shook his head stubbornly and said I wouldn’t be traipsing around London without him. He climbed onto the footman’s perch on the back of the coach, his considerable bulk making the vehicle list.

  Hagen drove us down South Audley Street the way I’d tramped up, reminding me of my anger at Denis. Spendlove, in my opinion, was more ruthless than Denis, and so I’d have to let Mr. Floyd sit in Newgate until I could find evidence to clear him.

  I tried to push aside this worry to focus on Grenville. I’d extract him from Brooks’s by any means necessary and then return to the problem of Denis’s orders. I needed Grenville’s cool and steady head to help me, but at this moment, his mind would be anything but clear. I wondered briefly if discomposing Grenville was Dunmarron’s intention.

  Brooks’s club faced St. James’s Street, its imposing facade lined with lofty columns and tall windows. The building was topped with a Greek pediment, making it look as though a temple had been transported from the Aegean Sea and dropped in the middle of prosaic London houses. This particular temple was dedicated to the goddess Fortuna—or might as well have been from the fierce gaming that took place inside. The Whig party was also worshipped here, its well-established members alternately venerated or despised by the younger men.

  If Dunmarron took a room here on occasion, he must be ensconced within the Whigs. I took little enough notice of politics these days—spending most of my grown years out of the country had made me lose interest in it. Whatever hot air was talked in Parliament decided whether I went to battle in India or Portugal, and it seemed to make no difference which party held the reins.

  I knew enough to understand that the Prince Regent had been a great friend to the Whigs in his youth, throwing in his lot with Mr. Fox and others against the Tory bastions and his father, who had a decidedly Tory bent. As the prince aged, however, coming closer to the throne as the king grew more enfeebled, the Regent had begun outraging his Whig ties by becoming more Tory by the day. He looked with approval upon lords Castlereagh and Liverpool, telling his old friends it would upset his father if he did not support the Tory end of government. Grenville could go on for some time about why the Regent had shifted his alliances, longer than I listened to him, truth to tell.

  In any case, Dunmarron was inside Brooks’s, and Grenville presumably was with him. I descended, Brewster climbing down to wait on the pavement near the door. I had no doubt he’d shoulder his way inside if he thought I’d be in any danger.

  The doorman whose task it was to allow or deny entrance to those seeking this lofty edifice, stood squarely in the middle of the vestibule as I walked inside. His name was Richards, and he knew me well.

  “Good evening, Captain Lacey,” he said, his voice more cultured than those of many of the members. “Do you seek Mr. Grenville? He has been here and gone.”

  I gave him a nod, making myself contain my impatience. “Thank you. What about Dunmarron? Might I have a word with him?”

  “His Grace is not here either, sir.”

  Whether Dunmarron was truly out, had never come in, or was simply not receiving visitors I could not tell, but there was little else I could do. As long as Grenville hadn’t strangled him, all was well.

  “Did Mr. Grenville leave alone?” I asked.

  Richards’s nose rose a little higher. “Yes, sir.”

  “Hmm.” I would have to think on where the devil he’d gone. “If he returns, will you tell him I am looking for him? He may send me word at home.”

  “Yes, sir,” Richards said, looking relieved I wouldn’t be pushing my way in. “May I offer my congratulations, sir, on the arrival of your daughter.”

  I instantly softened. “You may, Richards. You may. Thank you.”

  Richards looked upon me a touch more kindly. “I will convey the message if Mr. Grenville returns. Good night, Captain.”

  I took the hint, gave him another nod, and retreated.

  I went back to the carriage, Brewster coming out of the shadows to boost me in. “Grenville’s not here,” I said to Donata. “According to Richards. Now to decide where he’s got to.”

  “The theatre at Haymarket.” Brewster looked inside at us, his hand on the door handle.

  I blinked at him. “How the devil do you know that?”

  “Asked the lad what sweeps the street. Says Mr. Grenville came out of the club and into a hackney, telling the driver to take him to Haymarket. Not storming, not angry—cool as you please, as per usual.”

  I glanced past Brewster to see the lad in question quickly approach a man who was stepping into the street, the boy’s treble voice coming to us. “Clear your path, milord?” The gentleman rumbled something and tossed him a coin, which the lad caught with expertise. The boy scrambled to sweep the horse dung and mud from the cobbles so the gentleman could walk across the road, keeping his fashionable boots somewhat cleaner than they otherwise might have been.

  “Very well,” I said, trying to be calm. “Tell Hagen to take us to Haymarket.”

  Brewster slammed the door and shouted up to Donata’s coachman, and we were off.

  “This time I shall enter with you,” Donata said in a determined voice. “Even if I am hardly dressed for the theatre.”

  I raised my brows as I glanced over her ensemble, her velvet cloak soft against my shoulder. “You are beautiful.”

  She smiled and gave my leg a squeeze with her gloved hand. “You are a comforting person to have near, Gabriel. More so because I know you mean your flattery.”

  Her tone held a tinge of pity—I, a poor deluded army captain, had no idea of the difference between a gown for a rout and one for the theatre—but her thanks was no less warm.

  “If you can bear to be seen with a crusty old thing like me,” I said, “I welcome your company.”

  Another squeeze. “Of course. I enjoy showing the world that you and I continue to live in each other’s pockets, even after a year of marriage and a child. Speculation was that we would not last a sixmonth.”

  I laid my hand on hers. “Speculation is wrong.”

  “I know, and you cannot understand how much I love making all of polite society eat their words. I believe there was even a wager about my fi
delity to you when you were gone to Egypt.”

  I stilled. “I beg your pardon? A wager? About you?”

  “Oh, yes. So many gentlemen lost their money on it. It was delicious.”

  I stared at Donata and her pleased flush for so long that she became exasperated. “I knew I should not have told you—for heaven’s sake, do not fight a duel over this, Gabriel. You barely escaped arrest for your last one. It is done, and I was highly amused. Those who disparage us look like fools.”

  “A man does not make a wager about another man’s wife.” My body had gone rigid, my anger rising. “Especially when that man is not there to defend her.”

  Donata gazed at me, coolness entering her eyes. My first wife, when she’d sensed my transition to rage, would begin to babble, trying to soothe me down, and then break into nervous laughter and then into tears.

  My second wife only gave me a look of disdain, annoyed I was going on about a matter when that matter was closed. “Take no notice,” she said. “Those fool enough to wager have had their comeuppance. Take a leaf from Grenville’s book and let the world see that you care nothing for them.”

  “That is the secret to surviving among the aristocracy, is it?” I asked stiffly.

  “Of course.” Her coolness increased and she withdrew her touch, laying her hand on her lap. “Give way, and you drown.”

  She was angry. When Donata lost her temper, she never raged, never shouted. Instead she retreated behind a wall of ice, waiting until others sorted out the problem. She became haughty, disdainful, and utterly unapproachable.

  “Forgive me,” I said, trying to climb down from my mountain of pride. “I know I can be an embarrassment to you. I will endeavor to keep this unfortunate tendency to a minimum.”

  She shot me a scornful look. “Please, Gabriel, do not give yourself airs. My husband with his boorish manners, foul tongue, and blatant debauchery was embarrassing. You are hardly in his league.” She sat forward as the carriage halted. “Escort me inside, and do try to look as though we’ve not had a row.”

  I gripped her elbow, supporting her as the door opened, letting in a wave of chill wind. “Is this a row?” I asked in her ear. “I look forward to making it up later.”

  Every so often, I said the right thing to my wife—entirely by accident. Donata sent me a smile that promised many things, before she descended, Brewster helping her down.

  * * *

  Grenville was indeed at the theatre. He had a box there, a private alcove high above the stage that was decorated with a gold frieze and red velvet curtains that could be pulled closed for privacy. The box held eight chairs, all of which were full tonight.

  I heard a man speaking on the stage, though in a measured voice rather than a dramatic shout. No actors answered him, but there were a few bellowed questions from the audience. A lecture, I concluded, not a play.

  Grenville reposed in a chair in the front of the box, a lady to either side of him. All the occupants of the box rose as Donata and I entered, turning to greet us, never mind what was happening on the stage below.

  I recognized the lady on Grenville’s arm as the Austrian violinist, Mrs. Anastasia Froehm, who made the occasional journey to London to play and dazzle us all. She had a round face that was plain but open and friendly, soft eyes, and an engaging smile. Grenville had introduced me to her on one of her previous visits, and she held out her hand to me as I bowed.

  “So pleasant to meet you again, Captain Lacey,” she said in her richly accented English. She curtseyed deferentially to Donata, who acknowledged her with a regal bow.

  Grenville gazed at me, his eyes still, but I knew he was asking me to keep my silence while we were in public. I gave him a steady look in return, my signal that I would.

  Grenville had explained to me during Mrs. Froehm’s last visit that there was nothing more than friendship between them. They’d known each other a long time, and Grenville’s presence at her side prevented Mrs. Froehm from having to fend off too-persistent admirers. Gossip and newspapers enjoyed themselves pairing their names, however, and Grenville never bothered to dispute the claims.

  I understood why Grenville had sought out Mrs. Froehm tonight and brought her to his box in front of all of London. He was saving his reputation. If Grenville’s mistress had slipped from him at the beckoning of the man referred to as the Duke of Dunces, he’d be a laughingstock. Grenville was changing the story.

  No doubt it was already common knowledge that Marianne was with Dunmarron. But, if Grenville behaved as though he’d simply tired of one mistress and had returned to another, this cast Dunmarron in the role of a man taking a famous man’s leavings, not one successfully luring away Grenville’s beloved.

  After we had greeted Mrs. Froehm, we were obliged to exchange good evenings with the rest of the people in the box, some of whom I hadn’t met before. Therefore, introductions had to be made. Finally, Grenville ordered a footman to drag in two more chairs so that we could squeeze ourselves in to watch the performance.

  Donata managed a seat in the front with the ladies and Grenville, while I was relegated to the back among the gentlemen. One of the gentlemen had a grudging respect for me since I’d been an army man, and offered me snuff. I took it politely though I didn’t particularly like snuff, but one didn’t refuse without snubbing the offerer.

  The gentleman on my other side wore sagging cashmere trousers and a scarlet waistcoat, a large cravat and perfume. He’d even rouged his cheeks. I thought he looked a perfect fool, but I said nothing. The fellow beyond him completely ignored me.

  All the conversation concentrated in the front row among the ladies and Grenville, while we gentlemen sat in silence. When I was finally able to focus my attention on the stage, I saw that we were in the middle of a lecture on astronomy—the sun, moon, and planets.

  A giant orrery had been erected on the stage, the sun a huge ball in its center, with wires and levers to send the earth and other planets around the sun. Just as I turned to listen, a fiery ball shot from the outer reaches of the theatre and sizzled around the sun—a comet. The audience burst into applause, as did I. The gentleman who’d given me the snuff looked sideways at me and then followed my lead to clap.

  I leaned forward, trying to hear what the fellow said. I knew I’d find this lecture fascinating and was sorry I’d missed the first of it. I was also a bit surprised Grenville had surrounded himself with rather dull company, but it made sense if he’d wanted to prove himself not pining for Marianne, and to prove this in a hurry. He’d gathered hangers-on who would report what a splendid time he was having with Mrs. Froehm, never mind what was going on around them. Grenville was the entertainment, not the lecture.

  I tried to shut out the ladies’ chatter and the rude remarks of the two gentlemen on my right. The rather portly man on the stage, dressed in a subdued black suit except for his waistcoat, which sported large stars on it, went on in an authoritative tone about the movement of the planets in their dance, and how total eclipses of the sun happened, which could be predicted almost down to the minute.

  It was very interesting—I would have to return to this lecture at a later date, perhaps alone with Donata. She had a keen interest in higher matters and would probably enjoy it as well.

  At the moment, Donata was raising her lorgnette to gaze about her and make remarks on those she saw. She had the ladies in the front row laughing and hanging on her words, in the way Donata could. My wife knew all about saving a reputation and holding one’s head up when one was being publicly humiliated.

  Before the end of the lecture, Grenville executed his grand exit. He rose to his feet, making a show of being finished with this entertainment. Mrs. Froehm rose with him, smiling and pleasant. Grenville invited Donata and me to journey on with him to his next destination, a supper ball of some sort. Donata gladly accepted—she and I had tickets to the same, she claimed, though this was the first I’d heard of it.

  The others in the box looked disappointed Grenville was leavin
g—apparently they hadn’t been invited to this supper ball—and Grenville told them to remain and enjoy themselves as long as they liked. That perked them up—the use of Grenville’s private box would raise their standing.

  We made our way down the stairs, Donata on Grenville’s arm, Mrs. Froehm on mine. Heaven help us that we gentlemen should escort the ladies we actually wanted to be with.

  Plenty of people were making their way downstairs as well. If one remained to the end of the performance, one would miss so many more events of the night. London always had something on.

  The foyer was crammed with those going out and those coming in. I caught sight of Rafe Godwin with Lord Lucas Parnell and hoped our paths would not cross, but it was not to be. Rafe deliberately moved upstream so that we would meet near the doors to the street. Between Rafe and Lord Lucas was a man I didn’t know, but by his bullish air and the fact that people moved quickly out of his way, I decided who he had to be.

  Mrs. Froehm halted at my side. “Also,” she said in a low voice. “Is this the man Herr Grenville names the Duke of the Dunces?”

  “It must be,” I said. “A well-orchestrated encounter.”

  “Vielleicht,” she said.

  Rafe Godwin steered his friends directly for us. The foyer grew more chaotic as he did, because of course everyone wanted to watch the encounter. Grenville continued to stroll with Donata, speaking to her as though having no idea Dunmarron was anywhere near.

  Rafe stepped in front of Grenville, quite rudely, but the excitement in his eyes told me he’d decided to let manners fly out the window. “Grenville,” he said heartily. “Well met.”

  Mrs. Froehm and I were a few yards from Grenville, but cut off from assisting him by others who squeezed between us. Fortunately he had Donata with him, though I was not happy to see her being accosted by Rafe and the Duke of Dunmarron.

  Grenville raised his brows at Rafe, conveying his disapproval of the man’s behavior. “Godwin. Parnell,” he said politely then, “Good Lord.” Grenville’s quizzing glass came out and he ran it over the man between Rafe Godwin and Lord Lucas. “Is it Dunmarron? In a theatre? You are a long way from home, Your Grace. What brings you to Town? It cannot be the fine weather.”