The Glass House

by Ashley Gardner

  Her cool look turned to a glare. "Are you implying that the woman was me? How dare you? Shall I call my uncle, and tell him what you have said? I hope to heaven he will show you the door."

  "A man was murdered," I said in a hard voice. "The weapon was the sword in my walking stick, which you were seen taking away with you the day before. For God's sake, tell me what you did, and please tell me that you had nothing to do with Inglethorpe's death."

  Her breath caught. She looked at me a long moment, lips parted, eyes moist. "I had nothing to do with it," she said, losing her defiance. "Nothing at all, I swear to you. When I left Mr. Inglethorpe, he was alive. I never knew he'd been murdered until my uncle told me of it later that day."

  So she had been there. My heart sank. I had hoped that Mrs. Danbury would tell me that the walking stick had been stolen from her and that she had no idea how it had ended up in Inglethorpe's reception room.

  My throat tightening, I said, "Begin from the beginning, and tell me. You discovered my walking stick left behind on Wednesday, and you took it away with you. Did you realize it was mine?"

  Mrs. Danbury rested her hand on top of the harp, half-shielding herself with the instrument. "Yes, of course. When I saw that you'd left it behind, I caught it up and rushed to take it down to you. But when I reached the street, you'd already gone."

  True. I had leapt into Lady Breckenridge's coach, eager to hear what she had to tell me about Lord Barbury.

  Mrs. Danbury went on, "So I brought it home with me."

  "And then the next day, you took it back to Inglethorpe's."

  Color flooded her face. "Yes."

  "I must wonder why you did so."

  "Because . . ." Her flush deepened, and she looked ashamed. "Oh, dear heavens, Captain. I was a fool. Mr. Inglethorpe told me he would have another gathering at his house on Thursday, and that I could return and partake of more of his magic gas. I did not want to; it made me rather sick, as I told you. But he said he had invited you as well. So I thought, the next day, I'd simply bring your walking stick with me and give it back to you."

  "But when you reached Inglethorpe's, you realized he had deceived you."

  Her gray eyes sparkled in anger. "The odious man had me wait in his reception room; I did not realize at first that I was the only person to arrive."

  "When did you discover your mistake?"

  "When he returned to the reception room and closed me in with him. I wanted to leave right away, but he bade me stay."

  "But the servants swore in court that they saw no one. Who let you in?"

  "Inglethorpe answered the door himself. He must have been waiting for me. My footman had knocked on the door, then nipped down the scullery stairs to the kitchens. When Inglethorpe appeared instead of his butler, I grew nervous. I meant to call my footman back, but Inglethorpe came outside and drew me in."

  Thus explaining the mud on his indoor shoes.

  "I am beginning to be happy you had a weapon with you," I said. "What happened then?"

  "Mr. Inglethorpe asked, rather rudely, why I was carrying a gentleman's walking stick. I explained that you had left it and that I had brought it to give you. He looked annoyed and snatched it away from me."

  My voice became a growl. "Did he?"

  "That was not the worst of it. He pulled the sword partway out, and he . . ." Her face turned scarlet. "He made lewd gestures with it."

  Bloody bastard. I wished Inglethorpe alive gain so I could have the joy of pummeling him. I hoped he was roasting in hell.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "The man needed calling out."

  "I was mortified. I tried to leave, but he blocked the way. Then he began talking about my late husband, Mickey, and how he'd always admired him. He said . . . Oh, dear lord, I can hardly repeat it."

  "Do not, if it distresses you. I believe I can guess the gist."

  "No, I want to tell you. I cannot bear to keep it inside any longer, and of course I cannot relieve my feelings talking to my uncle or aunt. Mr. Inglethorpe said he'd always wanted to take Mickey to bed, but now that Mickey was gone, I would do." Tears of mortification welled in her eyes.

  My rage grew. "Mr. Inglethorpe is lucky he is dead."

  "I could not think what to say or do. I had gone there out of my own foolishness. Mr. Inglethorpe was between me and the door, and he began taking off his coat and waistcoat. He was very careful and deliberate about it, almost taunting me. I had never been so disgusted and afraid in my life."

  My hands curled to fists. "Please tell me you got away."

  Mrs. Danbury nodded. "When he turned to lay his clothing on a chair, I ran. He grabbed for me and nearly had me, but mercifully, I was too quick. I ran out of the house. I climbed into my carriage and told the coachman to go, quickly." She laughed, tears choking her voice. "I left my poor footman behind. He ran up the scullery stairs as we pulled away, swearing like a sailor. But I was afraid to stop, and the poor fellow had to walk home."

  She twisted her hands, her laughter dying. "Later when I heard Mr. Inglethorpe had been killed with the swordstick, I did not know what to think. I was afraid to mention my part in the matter; I was afraid the magistrates would believe I killed him. I swore my servants to silence and I lied to you and to the coroner. I am sorry, Captain, but I was so afraid."

  "Of course you were," I said, gentling my voice. She'd been foolish, but not guilty of evil. "But it no longer matters. Mr. Chapman confessed to murdering him, and you no longer need to worry."

  She sniffled as she drew a handkerchief from her sleeve. "It has been horrible. I expected the magistrates to arrive and arrest me any moment. And at the inquest, I dreaded the moment when one of the others would announce that they'd seen me take the walking stick. I can only thank heaven that no one did."

  "Lady Breckenridge saw you."

  Mrs. Danbury stared with tear-filled eyes. "Did she? She not say so."

  "She has her own sense of honor," I said. "She thought it would be unfair to you."

  Mrs. Danbury looked puzzled but merely wiped her nose again. "I know ought to have told you, Captain, but I was utterly humiliated. I did not want you to know I'd been anywhere near the man, and I did not want you to believe I'd killed him. I could only imagine that you'd share the story with Mr. Grenville, and then it would be all over London."

  "You mistake me," I said in surprise. "I would never have done such a thing."

  "I know that now." Mrs. Danbury gave me a regretful smile. "Uncle and Leland believe that you are the most honorable gentleman alive. But I could scarcely credit that you were as fine as they painted you."

  "Because they are apt to believe the very best of everyone."

  "They do." Her smile held more warmth. "But I am beginning to believe they are correct about you."

  A warmth began in my breastbone. "Your uncle and cousin are far kinder than I deserve. But I have some blame in this--Inglethorpe ought to have been flogged, but I was the one who so foolishly left my walking stick behind in the first place."

  "Do not blame yourself, Captain. I ought to have left well enough alone."

  "You had no need to bother returning the walking stick directly to me, you know. You could have left it with Sir Gideon--I was due to dine here, or Sir Gideon could have sent it on to me."

  "Yes, I know. I thought of that." She reddened. "But you see, Captain, I thought it would be much more pleasant to return it to you myself."

  I regarded her in surprise. She sounded suddenly shy. Shy, when I knew this woman was popular in society and courted by some of the most eligible bachelors in London.

  "You are kind," I said, my voice softening.

  Her shyness fell away, and her look turned almost flirtatious. "I so enjoyed waltzing with you, Captain, that I rather hoped I could do it again."

  Heat suffused my face. "I made quite a cake of myself leaping about like a caper merchant. I apologize for that liberty."

  "I seem to recall I did not mind in the least." Mrs. Danbury flashed me a smile. It w
as a nice smile, one that deepened the corners of her mouth. While this lady was much more aware of the world than her ingenuous cousins, she still possessed their sweetness.

  She took my arm. "Shall we walk?"

  We strolled together to the garden. The January night was colder now, far too cold for traversing garden paths, but the Derwents seemed to create a warmth of their own. Soon we were laughing and talking together, never minding the weather. Mrs. Danbury's story relieved me, and I let myself enjoy the rest of the evening.

  *** *** ***

  The chill in my heart returned with a vengeance when I entered my rooms later that night and found Kensington there, waiting for me.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kensington sat before of my fire, which he'd stoked high, and he'd lit all my candles. The light fell on his round face, which looked a bit haggard.

  "Good evening, Captain," he said. "I am a bit put out with you."

  I closed the door. I had told Bartholomew to return to Grenville's to visit his brother tonight, knowing that I'd soon be taking him off with me to Berkshire. Kensington would never have gained admittance had Bartholomew remained.

  "For Sir Montague's visit with Lady Jane?" I asked. "I cannot apologize for that."

  Kensington smiled, but the smile was strained. "I recall telling you on my last visit that you would pay for what you have done, Captain. Your nose may not be as long as your friend Grenville's, but you continue to push it where it does not belong."

  I remained by the door, Grenville's stout walking stick in my hand. "Hasn't Sir Montague arrested you, yet?"

  "I decided not to remain at home and give him the opportunity. When one of my informers heard he'd gone to see Lady Jane this afternoon, I made myself scarce. I am not naïve enough to believe that the bitch would not betray me. So I have set plans in motion. But before I disappear for good, I wanted to visit you and let you know what I think of you and your deeds."

  "I already know what you think of them. And I know what I think of yours."

  "I did not kill Peaches and Lord Barbury, Captain, much as you wish I had."

  "I have concluded that," I said. "That does not mean you are guilty of nothing. You kept a young girl in that house for your filthy customers. I am willing to hazard that there have been others. I am only happy that Peaches found a way to make you squirm."

  Kensington shook his head. "Amelia was never a sweet innocent, Captain. Always hard as nails, she was."

  "You made her so," I said, the walking stick warm under my palm. "I know that Peaches was not angelic; her life must have been harsh--I imagine she spent many years being pawed at by lecherous men wanting a pretty young actress. But I still cannot help wishing Peaches alive, and you dead."

  He smile became sickly. "You will not kill me, Captain. You are a man of honor."

  "What I will likely do is haul you around the corner to Bow Street and give you over to Pomeroy. My former sergeant is not terribly scrupulous about how he obtains a confession."

  "No, you will not, Captain," Kensington said, sounding too certain for my taste. "I am leaving England, and you will keep your bullying Runner and magistrate friends from following me."

  "Will I?" I slapped the walking stick to my hand. Ebony was a strong wood, good and solid.

  Kensington's small, smug smile returned. "I realize that you present a danger to me, Captain Lacey. I also very much want my revenge. And I have it. I will leave unmolested for the Continent, or a lady you care for very much will not return home this night."

  I went still, my blood turning to ice. Then I was across the room, my hands at his throat.

  Kensington yelped. "Strangle me and you'll not know what becomes of her!"

  I barely heard him through my berserker fury. We struggled in the corner, he trying to get away from me, me doing my best to throttle him. I was stronger, but he used his weight to counter me. We grappled, he punched me with heavy fists.

  I had never mentioned Louisa Brandon in his presence, but it would not have been difficult for him to discern my friendship with her. It was common knowledge that I and the Brandons were close, and Kensington or his lackeys could have seen me speaking to her at the theatre last night, riding with her in the park today.

  I would have killed him I think, and what would have happened to her I scarce dare imagine. As it was, Kensington kicked me hard in the left knee, a lucky shot but effective.

  I loosed him in a flare of pain. Kensington ducked from my hold and raced for the door.

  I shot after him. I could run on my leg when I was afraid or enraged, and I was both. Despite his kick, I was only five steps behind him on the stairs and closer still while he fumbled with the door.

  Outside, the stones were slick, but plenty of people milled about, despite the dark and cold. Kensington wove through the crowd, and I pounded behind. "Stop him!" I shouted.

  The good citizens of Grimpen Lane and Russel Street hastened to oblige. Unfortunately, too many of them did, and they got in my way while trying to seize the elusive Kensington.

  My leg gave out with an abruptness that paralyzed me. One moment I was running, the next, and I was on the pavement. I caught my knee, moaning and cursing. More concerned citizens stood over me, offering advice and sympathy.

  "Did anyone catch him?" I ground out.

  Heads were shaken. No one had. I sank back, my head pounding, my knee throbbing in pain.

  I had only one comfort. I did not need to catch Kensington to find Louisa.

  I dug in my pocket for a penny and thrust it at one of the street boys. "Get me a hackney."

  The boy caught the coin and bounced away. I spent the intervening time crawling to my feet and leaning against the wall, waiting for the arrival of the hackney.

  I knew where Kensington had put Louisa--the only place he could have. The Glass House might effectively be closed, but Kensington would still have a key.

  When the hackney arrived, the boy helped me climb into it. I directed the driver to St. Charles Row, near Whitechapel, and before the door closed, I gave the lad another coin and bade him run to Bow Street and tell Pomeroy where I'd gone.

  *** *** ***

  When I reached St. Charles Row, all was quiet. The moon had moved behind a bank of rising clouds, rendering the street nearly black. A candle or two shone in windows, but the citizens of this neighborhood would not have the money to waste on too many lights. Many of the hard-working ones had gone to bed long ago.

  The Glass House was silent, the scarred door locked, possibly bolted. The windows too were barred, and high from the street.

  I recalled how the girl, Jean, had described Peaches leaving the house through the kitchen. No scullery steps descended from the street to a door below, so the kitchen must lead out to the spaces behind the houses.

  In Mayfair, back gardens led to mews, where horses and carriages were kept for the masters of the grand townhouses. In this area, where the inhabitants likely could not afford their own horses, the passages would be only wide enough for the nightsoil removers who crept in and out in their noisome task.

  I left St. Charles Row for Aldgate, searching for the narrow passage that backed onto The Glass House and its neighbors. I stumbled upon it almost by accident; a darker space between dark walls.

  The passage when I entered it was so black that I could find my way only by running my hand along the wall and counting the gates. My boots sloshed through refuse the likes of which I did not want to contemplate.

  The gate of number 12 opened easily. In the dark, I nearly fell down the short flight of stairs that led to the kitchen door, catching myself with Grenville's walking stick at the last moment.

  The door was locked, but the lock proved to be flimsy. I was angry enough that bringing the walking stick down on the latch several times made it give way. If the neighbors heard me and called the watch, so much the better.

  The kitchen was cold and black. I tapped my way across it like a blind man. My leg s
till hurt like fire, but I was beyond caring. As soon as I got Louisa safe, I would let it hurt, but not until then.

  After a long time, too long for my patience, I reached the far wall of the kitchen and groped along it until I found a door. Hoping it led into the house and not a cupboard or scullery, I pushed through.

  My stick struck a stair. I climbed. My leg hurt, and I had to pull myself up, holding onto the wall.

  I emerged at last into the entrance hall. Faint light shone through the fanlight above the door, glistening on candlesticks on a half-moon table, candlesticks useless to me because I had no way to light the candles.

  I found the main stairs and groped my way to the first floor above the ground floor. The house was silent, and it had the feel and smell of desertion.

  I wondered where Kensington had put her. Would he have found it amusing to lock her into one of the windowed rooms? In that case, I'd only have to break the window to get her out.

  Or was she lying unconscious behind the glass, where the shards could cut her? I did not like that thought, but my greatest worry was simply getting her out.

  I went into the main room, where highborn gentlemen had played cards and dice and sipped expensive port. I could just make out the outlines of the tables and chairs in the darkness. The gleam of glass led me to a window, but I could see nothing inside.

  I cupped my hands and shouted. "Louisa!"

  The sound reverberated from the glass window, the dark room, the empty tables and chairs.

  I left the main room and made my way, slowly in the near pitch black, to the stairs that led to the attics. I climbed these painfully and emerged once more in the tiny hall where I'd found the room in which Peaches had kept her most precious things.

  "Louisa!" I called.

  I heard a faint cry, not from Peaches' room, but from the one opposite, the attic room I'd not seen. I groped for the door.