A Mystery at Carlton House

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Battle’s different, and I am bloody glad I never saw any. London’s battlefield enough.” Brewster shuddered. “We’ll go see Billy, and he’ll tell ye.”

  Brewster was ready to charge out and hunt down the man on the spot. I stepped in front of him. “By all means, find out where Billy is, but send for him, don’t confront him. Have him meet you here. Send word to Grenville as well. At the moment, I need to find Miss Simmons, so we will go our separate ways. Meet me back here in two hours—tell Grenville and Billy the same.”

  Brewster shook his head. “I should go with you, guv. Have Mrs. Beltan send one of her errand boys with your messages.”

  “You will not want to come with me, trust me,” I said, giving him a wry look. “When you’re finished sending messages, I’ll be in Great Wild Street if you decide to walk that way.”

  Brewster drew back. “You’re right. I don’t fancy a stroll there.” His eyes narrowed and he emphasized his next words with a jabbing finger. “You be careful, guv. Just because the place is full of mollies don’t mean they’re peaceful. They’ll cosh you for tuppence, they will, and likely have a go at you while you’re down.”

  “I will be on the lookout,” I said, and left him.

  * * *

  My destination was not far, and the weather, though the sky had clouded over again, remained dry. I made my way down Russel Street past the pile of Drury Lane Theatre, across Drury Lane to Prince’s Street, and so to Great Wild Street.

  Brewster had not been wrong about danger. Past the theatre and bustling Drury Lane, the roads were quieter, with shadows in narrow passages. When I turned into a lane off Great Wild Street, a man leaning against a wall gave me a sharp look, as though he considered me a choice morsel.

  This was molly territory, home to those men who enjoyed the pleasure of other men and boys, and sometimes weren’t too choosy about whether the gentleman they had in their sights was of the same mind. Gentlemen of Mayfair came here to enjoy forbidden and illegal delights, usually in the dead of night and in secret.

  I gave the man a warning glance but to no avail. After I passed him, he pushed off the wall and followed me.

  The ruffian was as big as Brewster, and I didn’t think much of my chances against him. I shouldn’t have left Brewster behind, I realized, but nothing I could do now.

  When I knocked on the door of my destination, I heard the man’s heavy footsteps stop, and when the door opened, they reversed and faded.

  A sullen youth stood in the doorway, a look of utter disgust in his eyes as he ran his gaze over me. “Yes?”

  “I am here to speak to Mr. Hilliard,” I said. “Is he in?”

  The lad drew a breath to tell me to bugger off. Before he could, a very strong, very male voice thundered over him. “Captain Lacey! How wonderful. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Freddy Hilliard, actor and travesti of Drury Lane, strode from a room down the passage, his hand extended to me. Freddy was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with a thundering voice that could rise to a trilling falsetto when he dressed in skirts and sang in comedies and the pantomimes. He had deep brown hair cropped close, a square face, dark eyes, and a hard body that spoke of athleticism.

  I shook his hand—the grip on mine could have crushed my bones.

  “Pleased to see you, Mr. Hilliard,” I said warmly. “Is Miss Simmons here?”

  “Marianne?” Freddy boomed. “Of course she is. A wonder it took you so long to find her. Come in, come in. Henry, lad, don’t look so disapproving. The Captain is a friend and welcome.”

  Chapter 20

  Freddy led me through a narrow but snug passageway with rugs on the polished floor, taper-legged furniture, and tasteful paintings on the walls. The dining room a few steps down this hall was also cozy, with a fireplace lending its warmth and a table of rich golden wood that could seat six. A sideboard held several decanters and a bowl overflowing with lemons and oranges.

  Marianne Simmons sat at the foot of the table, a glass of brandy between her hands, the remains of a repast at her elbow. She wore the clothes in which she must have escaped—a coarse woolen jacket, breeches, and a plain linen shirt. Her hair was unbound, flowing in a wave of gold over her shoulders.

  She raised her head as I entered, her eyes red-rimmed with tears and exhaustion. “I told you not to look for me,” she said, her brows coming together. “I ought to have known you would not listen.”

  “I had concluded where you were before I received your message.” I thanked Freddy, who’d pulled out a chair for me, and sank down to face Marianne. “Of course I would search for you.”

  Marianne determinedly studied her glass of brandy. “Do not be kind to me, Lacey. Freddy has been very kind, and I cannot cease weeping like a fool.”

  Freddy patted her arm before he sat down. “She’s had an ordeal, the dear girl. Brandy, Lacey?”

  “No—thank you.”

  “Coffee, then. It’s a cold day. Henry!” Freddy bellowed into the hall. “Bring coffee—hot, with a bowlful of sugar. And don’t be all day about it.”

  Henry, the young man who’d answered the door, peered into the room, curled his lip, and scuttled away.

  “Don’t mind him,” Freddy said. “He’s a bloody Methodist. Doesn’t approve of actors, especially actors like me.”

  “Why does he work for you then?” I asked in curiosity.

  Freddy barked a laugh. “He wants to reform me, of course. He’s on a crusade. Keeps my silver shined something wonderful, though, so I keep him on.”

  Freddy’s aside had been calculated, I saw, to give Marianne a chance to draw a calming breath. That was a characteristic of a great actor, I realized, the ability to divert attention at precisely the time it was needed.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” I asked Marianne. I curled my fist on the table an inch from her hand. “If you are up to it, I mean. I do not wish to tax you.”

  “For heaven’s sake.” Marianne let out an exasperated breath. “If the two of you continue to look upon me as fragile porcelain, I shall scream. Dunmarron is a brute—I am so worried for Grenville.” The face she turned to me was frightened, her cornflower blue eyes wide. “Please tell him to have a care.”

  “Of Dunmarron?” I stared. “He’s a boor, I grant you, but I am certain Grenville can hold his own against him.”

  “No, you do not understand at all.” Marianne shook her head, her hair dancing. “Dunmarron is a dangerous man. He might act the dullard and let the ton laugh at him, but underneath, he is horrible.”

  Freddy rose and patted her shoulders. “Better tell him the whole, sordid story, love. I’ll go see about the coffee.”

  He strode out with energy, growling for Henry. Marianne lifted her glass to pour a large quantity of brandy into her mouth. “He is right,” she said after she swallowed. “You need to know. Oh, Lacey, it was awful.”

  “He abducted you, did he not?” I asked. “You did not go willingly.”

  “Of course he did. You guessed that, did you? From the stupid letter he made me write?”

  “That very polite letter in which you call Grenville Lucius? You’d never have written words so deferential to me if someone hadn’t forced you to do it.”

  “Do not make me laugh—it was dreadful.” Marianne drained her glass, stared at it in regret, and set it aside. “I’ve been frightened before, but never quite like that.”

  “Dunmarron has sealed his fate, then,” I said grimly. “You need tell me no more.”

  Marianne lifted her head. “I want to. I wish you to understand everything.” She took a breath. “I did not lie when I said Dunmarron had been wooing me a long time. When I was on stage, he would wait for me, try to convince me to give up acting and become his permanent mistress. He is rich and a duke, but I never liked being near him. He’s unsavory. I put him off, and once Grenville made his interest known, he vanished. I thought that was that.” She spread her hands on the tablecloth. “But some days ago, Dunmarron managed to corner me when I wa
s out. I was buying ribbons, of all things, in Oxford Street. He told me he wanted me to leave Grenville and live with him in a little house in Portland Place—and to come with him on the moment. I could send Grenville a letter, he said, and tell him I’d left him. I managed to walk away from Dunmarron with my nose in the air, and I pushed the encounter from my thoughts. Gentlemen are always suggesting such things to me, and it’s best to ignore them. They only want Grenville’s leavings, the same as they’d keep a snuffbox he discarded as a souvenir.”

  I gave her a frown. “Do not compare yourself to a snuffbox, Marianne. Grenville does not.”

  “A horse, then.” She shrugged. “In any case, I forgot about it. But then Dunmarron cornered me again at the theatre—when I was there with Grenville. Grenville did not see, as I had left the box to go to a withdrawing room. Dunmarron frightened me. He is a large man and insistent on getting his way. He wanted me to flee with him right then, became adamant. There was a crowd, and I managed to slip away from him and back to Grenville’s box. He was gone by the time we departed. I didn’t dare tell Grenville, who might do some damn fool thing like call him out. But I hated to keep it from him all the same. The next morning, when you came calling, I decided to speak to you about it. You are acquainted with a few brutes who wouldn’t hesitate to put fear into a man, even if that man is a duke. When I ventured out to meet you at Egyptian Hall, I took every care, but Dunmarron had men watching me. They nabbed me when I wasn’t a few yards from the house, blocking the view with carriages precisely at the right moment, so that no one saw to help me.”

  “He has very definitely sealed his fate,” I said, my mild tone belying my fury. “Kidnapping is not done.”

  “I hope you do pot him,” Marianne said. “But I haven’t told you the worst. It isn’t me Dunmarron is after at all. It’s Grenville.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked. “To humiliate him, you mean? He tried, but Grenville has brushed him off at every turn. It is Dunmarron who has been made to look an idiot.”

  “No. Listen.” Marianne clasped her hands around her empty goblet as though needing to hold on to something. “Dunmarron and his bullying lads took me to his house in Portland Place. Dunmarron sat me down in his parlor and told me I had to obey every command he gave, or he’d make sure Grenville came to harm. He drew a knife and played with it, describing how he’d cut Grenville’s face so he wouldn’t be handsome anymore, maybe cut out his tongue so he couldn’t speak the golden words that made everyone like him. Dunmarron’s look, his smile—horrible.” She shivered. “I knew he’d do it. He told me to write the letter to you to tell Grenville I’d left him. If I didn’t, he’d find Grenville that night, pop out one of his eyes with his knife, and bring it to me in a box. He put the tip of the blade to my eye, and laughed.”

  My hand closed even tighter, stretching its glove. “We’ll have him arrested then. Taking you and threatening you—threatening Grenville—is nothing a magistrate would like to hear.”

  “For God’s sake, Lacey.” Marianne jerked upright. “A magistrate will not listen to the likes of me—not when it is my word against a duke’s. I am only an actress, no better than I ought to be, and there were no witnesses. I cannot prove he said such things, and he knows it, damn the man.”

  Marianne was unfortunately correct. If she accused a duke, she would need corroboration from someone with an impeccable reputation. A man like Dunmarron would be tried for crimes by the House of Lords, not in the common courts. The peerage of England, a body that included my father-in-law, would have to decide whether His Grace had behaved badly or was the victim of accusations by a hysterical actress who was little more than a courtesan.

  “You got away from him,” I said, trying to keep my anger at bay. “Why not hunt up Grenville immediately? Return to Grosvenor Street, where you’d be safe?”

  “Would I be?” Marianne gave me a worried look. “I convinced the boot boy, who didn’t like Dunmarron at all, to fetch me some men’s clothes. I dirtied my face, put up my hair, and followed him out, pretending to be a lad he’d brought in to help move some crates. The servants were so busy trying to cater to His Grace’s every whim that they noticed nothing. I gave the lad the last bit of coin I had and fled on foot, straight to Freddy, who took me in. How did you know I was here?”

  “I did not at first,” I said. “Last night, I overheard Dunmarron’s friends describing how you’d deceived him. They were delighted. They said you ought to be in a panto, which made me think of Mr. Hilliard, with whom you are good friends. I decided you might ask for his help. Ergo, you would either be here, or he’d know where you were.”

  “Indeed.” Freddy himself came in, bearing a large silver tray with a tall silver coffeepot with steam drifting from its spout. The scent of fresh coffee filled the room and Marianne began to relax. “The poor girl turned up at my scullery door, terrified. Of course I let her in immediately, and she can stay as long as she likes.”

  “I didn’t dare go back to Grenville’s house,” Marianne said. “Dunmarron nabbed me swiftly the first time—he’d planned very carefully. I know he’d try again. He is determined to bring Grenville down for every slight, real and imagined, he’s caused since they were youths. I do not want Dunmarron to coerce Grenville by using me. I won’t be the means of his destruction.” Tears filled Marianne’s eyes as Freddy poured a cup of coffee and shoved it at her. “Please look after him, Lacey. He’ll go after Dunmarron—you know he will—but Dunmarron is dangerous. The things he said he wanted to do to Grenville terrify me. Cutting bits off him, luring him to his estate and throwing him to the pigs—Dunmarron gloated every time he thought of something new and terrible.”

  Freddy calmly poured another cup of coffee and slid it to me. “Sounds a complete madman. Perhaps we should have the magistrates on him.”

  I shook my head. “Marianne is right that her accusations would not have any weight. The only way Dunmarron can be arrested is if he actually carries out some of these threats on Grenville.”

  Marianne had taken a sip of coffee, but now she clattered her cup to its saucer and coughed. “Do not let him. I beg you, Lacey. I … I’m damned fond of Grenville and don’t want to see him harmed.”

  Freddy sent her an incredulous look. “Damned fond? You’re madly in love with him, my lass. And Dunmarron, I agree, is a dangerous man. I believe we can leave what to do in the captain’s capable hands.”

  “Indeed,” I said. I thought of the Bow Street magistrate, Conant, who was reasonable and intelligent, but even he might hesitate to question a duke accused of making dire threats on the word of a lowly actress. The consequences to him if he or the Runners could prove nothing would be grim. I could also go to Sir Montague Harris, of the Whitechapel magistrate’s court, who had become a friend, and lay the case before him. Again, though, there would have to be proof beyond Marianne’s word.

  However, I knew a man who did not fear any gentleman, no matter his station in life, a man who made it his business to keep others under his control. He might refuse to act, but I could ask.

  At this point, I realized I’d never be cleared of my debt to Denis, but so be it. Dunmarron could not terrorize my friends and get away with it. If I went after the duke myself, as I longed to, I’d end up in Newgate alongside Mr. Floyd—with Mr. Floyd’s chances for freedom being far better than mine.

  “You will soon be able to go home,” I said to Marianne. I took a sip of coffee, which was quite good, though I was barely able to enjoy it. I pushed the cup back toward Freddy.

  “If Grenville will have me.” Marianne’s voice held a note of sadness I’d never heard in her before. “I have put him through hell.”

  I reached out and clasped her hand, squeezing it gently. “I think you have no worry on that score, my friend.”

  Tears filmed Marianne’s eyes. “Dunmarron never touched me. Please tell him that. He was more interested in going on about what he’d do to Grenville than in having any lustful designs on me. Laughed about it.”
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  I gave Marianne’s hand another squeeze. I promised her I’d find a way she could go home soon, and rose to take my leave.

  Freddy accompanied me to the door, his Methodist footman nowhere in sight. “I’ll keep her safe,” Freddy assured me in a low voice. “Poor thing. I believe Mr. Grenville ought to take her to Paris and indulge her incredibly after what she’s been through.”

  “I agree.” I reached for the door handle to let myself out and hesitated. “There was a large, rough-looking man with ham fists in your street. I hope not sent by the duke, as I will have led him straight to your door.”

  Freddy’s brows rose. He stepped past me to open the door and peer out, then he withdrew with a sigh of relief. “No, that’s Rollo. He’ll leave you be or answer to me.”

  My brows went up. “Who the devil is Rollo?”

  “A bad fellow. He’s for sale, you see—puts himself for sale, that is—and sometimes beats that fact into his reluctant customers. He won’t touch me or those I vouch for, so have no worry.”

  “A nice place you live. And you say Marianne is safe?”

  “My dear Captain, it is this way all over London. Rollo is only a bit more obvious, which will land him in the dock one day and get him hanged.” Freddy shook my hand again. “Do not worry. I will look after her.”

  I thanked Freddy, but before I could withdraw, he squeezed my hand. “I don’t believe I expressed my gratitude to you for introducing me to Mr. Derwent, Captain. He and I have become quite good friends.”

  He released me, and I felt my cheeks warm. Leland Derwent, a young man I once thought had been innocence itself, had admired Freddy and was pleased to meet him. Freddy had been kind to Leland, bolstering his spirits after Leland had gone through a tragedy. I was happy Leland had found someone to help him assuage his grief, but I did not want to imagine their relationship beyond that.

  Freddy burst out laughing. “No need to blush, Captain. We are friends only.” He gave me a significant look. “But I live in hope.”