“I’m well, no thanks to you.” Charlotte dropped my arm and took Ned’s. “It’s all right. The big man is me uncle, it turns out, and this is his friend. They’re going to look after me now.”
“Yeah?” Ned eyed me narrowly. “What about me?”
“I look after you.” Charlotte nestled into him and kissed his cheek. “Now go on and fetch me some breakfast.”
I left Charlotte in Ned’s care after I asked her a few more questions about Finch. Brewster was waiting for me at the end of Hart Street when I emerged from the lane where Charlotte lived, and we made our way out of the warrens to Great Russel Street.
“Did you leave Hobson alive?” I asked as we walked.
“Oh, aye,” Brewster said. “Knocked him about some, but he’ll mend. He won’t be bothering Charlotte again.”
He said nothing more, but I had faith that Brewster had put the fear of God into Hobson. I wondered if a reminder who Brewster worked for had sealed the bargain.
“I’ll tell Em to look in on her,” Brewster said. “Em will be chuffed to know she has a niece.”
“Charlotte seemed fond of Finch, in spite of her manner,” I reflected. “All others we’ve come upon, including you, either loathed or feared him. The way Charlotte paints him doesn’t fit—to her, Finch is a father who acknowledged a girl child he’d sired out of wedlock, a man who brought her gifts.”
“It’s interestin’,” Brewster conceded. “A hard man but one what dotes on his daughter? Seems unlikely. ’Course, you’re the same.”
“You think me a hard man?” I asked, nonplussed.
Brewster gave me a sideways look. “You dress proper and pretend to follow the rules of the gentry-coves, but you throw away the rules whenever they don’t suit you. It takes a hard man to cross Mr. Denis, but you do it.”
My brows rose. “I don’t cross him these days. He tells me to do a thing, and I do it.”
“No, you don’t.” Brewster snorted. “You do what he asks when it’s convenient to you and for your own ends. Don’t think he don’t understand that. Take me word, guv, he knows ye for a hard man, and a dangerous one.”
He fell silent, leaving me bewildered.
“Charlotte told me Finch turned up about a week ago,” I said after we’d walked without speaking a few moments. “Stayed with her but didn’t say much about where he’d been or why he was in London.”
“Huh,” Brewster said. “I’ll wager she knows more than she lets on. I’ll have Em talk with the girl. Charlotte might tell Em what she wouldn’t tell you.”
“Even though I’m a hard man?”
“But with a softness for the ladies, as I said. A girl like Charlotte will know that first thing. Wrap you right around her finger.”
“Seven days,” I said, ignoring him. “Three days ago, he was killed. Did he come to London to meet someone? Or did he simply wish to visit Charlotte?”
“Or Shaddock, maybe,” Brewster said. “The man was terrified when we mentioned him, which he shouldn’t have been if Finch were safely away across the ocean. And didn’t Mr. Oliver say Shaddock turned everyone out a few months ago, like he was afraid of something? Maybe he’d heard word that Finch had escaped and was heading home.”
“Why did you fall out with Shaddock?” I asked in curiosity as we turned to Great Russel Street. The bulk of the British Museum rose before us, a temple to antiquities from all over the world. Lord Elgin’s marbles, raw and naked, reposed there to shock the gentry out of their complacency. “Did he stage fights even then?”
Brewster nodded. “I was young and high-minded in those days.” He let out a sigh, as though regretting the folly of his youth. “I started my fighting life because Shaddock took me in hand. He thought if I became a pugilist it would stop me thieving, save me from an early death at the end of a rope. He were right—I’d have been caught and strung up or transported sooner or later. I wanted to prove I was up to his standards, that he didn’t make a mistake helping a boy from the streets. No matter how outraged he told you he was about White’s and Finch’s demands that he cheat for them, he did it himself long before he met them. Wanted me to go down in a fight, but I wouldn’t do it. I left him in disgust.”
“It is difficult when you learn your mentor has feet of clay,” I said in sympathy.
I remembered becoming more and more frustrated with my own mentor, Colonel Brandon, and his hold over me once I’d made captain. He’d begun demanding my gratitude, though my promotion had been given to me because of deeds I’d performed in the field.
I’d grown angry with myself, wondering what was wrong with me that I would cease to have faith in him. And this was long before he’d believed me having an affair with his wife.
“You mean when you find out they’re as crooked as anyone else?” Brewster asked. “I suppose I didn’t go easy on him. But Shaddock taught me a skill and gave me a purpose in life—I wanted to be a good boxer. Learned I didn’t have to rely on stealing, so I’m grateful for that.”
I knew Colonel Brandon had given me a huge leg up when he’d helped me volunteer in the army and assisted in funding my uniforms, horses, and my first rank of lieutenant. If not for him, I’d have remained in Norfolk, poor and listless, possibly relieving my ennui in excessive drink. If I’d stayed home, sooner or later I’d likely have lost my temper and murdered my father.
It came to me in a flash as Brewster spoke that, yes, I was a hard man, and that I owed Colonel Brandon much, in spite of him turning out to be rather weak-willed.
“Where to now, Captain?”
I forced myself to focus on the present. “We need to discover exactly who Finch met and spoke to upon his arrival in London. What his plans were. If we follow his path, I’m certain it will lead to his killer.”
“I know you have this curiosity,” Brewster said. “But why not leave it up to the Runners? Mr. Quimby believes I didn’t knife him, so I’m in the clear. Why care who killed a man like Finch? Good riddance, everyone but Charlotte has said.”
I shot him a frown. “You are by no means cleared. No matter what Quimby says, most magistrates would be quite willing to fit you up for the crime. If they can’t find the correct culprit, then you’ll do nicely. After all, you’re a known villain.”
Brewster looked skeptical. “His Nibs will never let me swing.”
“Only if it’s expedient for His Nibs to save you. You’ll be safe when we discover the real killer and make sure he’s given to Quimby or Pomeroy to arrest.”
Brewster studied me in puzzlement. “But why should you mind? I’m just a thug what follows you around on the orders of a man you despise. Why is it any interest of yours whether a cove like me lives or dies?”
“Because you’re a good man.” I punctuated my words with a slam of my walking stick to the pavement. “An honorable one. You’ve saved my life several times. If I could not repay that by keeping you from Newgate, I’d be a hard man indeed.”
Brewster continued to be unconvinced. “I ain’t even your class. You’re a gentleman. Not my world.”
“What has that to do with anything? I’ll not throw you to the wolves, Brewster, whatever you might think. You almost died because of me and my bloody family, so cease looking so amazed. And I don’t despise Denis. Disagree with him as to his methods and his morality—or lack of it—but I do not despise him. The world made him what he is, as it made you, and made me.” I drew a breath and gave a little laugh. “That is enough pontificating for one day. I have appointments, and you need to tell your wife she has a niece.”
Brewster blinked slowly as I ended this speech. “All right, guv,” he said. “But I’m making certain you get home first. ’Cause I’m doing me job.”
He snapped his mouth shut and led me toward a hackney stand, a belligerent scowl on his face.
Poor chap. I do believe I embarrassed him.
When I reached home, I found replies to both my notes. Pierce Egan agreed to meet me and Grenville at Jackson’s boxing rooms tonight, and Den
is agreed to see me at three this afternoon.
It was half past two by the time I received the messages, so I donned a light coat and walked down South Audley Street to its end, and to the home of James Denis.
Chapter 15
When I was admitted to number 45, Curzon Street by the aging butler, I saw that some of Denis’s men lingered in the house. They did not congregate in one place but drifted in and out of back rooms, and I heard voices in the dining room behind the closed door.
The butler gave me a sharp look at my curiosity but said nothing as he led me up the stairs.
Denis was in his study, as usual, the room as coolly elegant as he was. The self-portrait of Rembrandt watched us with interest as I took my customary seat, and the butler set the customary goblet of brandy at my elbow.
“Before you ask, I will not allow you to question my men at will,” Denis said, regarding me over the blank space of his desk. “However, I have found two who knew Jack Finch well, and they will speak to you.”
He indicated a man at the window, one of the rotation of guards that stood there whenever Denis received visitors.
“I did not come about that,” I said.
Denis had placed his fingertips together as he rested his elbows on his chair’s arms, and his fingers twitched the slightest bit. “No?”
“No. I came to bid you tell me where my wife is.”
There was a silence. Denis’s hands didn’t move and neither did his eyes.
“I must decline,” he said.
I gripped the arms of my chair, making myself hold on to my temper. I’d gain nothing by berating him. “I know it was Mrs. Lacey’s own idea, and Brewster’s. I do not blame you, but I must know. Surely you can understand my thoughts on this matter.”
Denis remained silent. The clock on the mantel, an onyx piece by Vulliamy, which I had not seen here before, ticked into the quietness.
Fabric rustled as Denis lowered his arms. “If I reveal her ladyship’s whereabouts, and more importantly, the whereabouts of her son, you will immediately rush to them or send someone in your stead, believing you are practicing prudence. Either action will place them in danger. So I must decline.”
Anger heated me as he spoke, but I had to admit he was correct—my first instinct would be to go to Donata or at least send Bartholomew or Grenville to make certain all was well.
I cleared my throat. “If I give you my word I will say nothing, do nothing, will you tell me? You must know that this is more than I can bear.”
Denis made a minute shake of his head. “What you cannot bear is that you do not know. Her ladyship is perfectly well. There is a reason she sent Brewster to me for help, not you.”
The carvings on the chair’s arms pressed my palms as I forced myself not to leap across his desk and grab him by the throat.
“She knows I am impetuous, you mean,” I said tightly.
Another shake. “She knew I’d have the resources to adequately hide her and keep her son safe. There are limited places you could take them where his lordship would not be found before this is resolved.”
True. Stanton knew of my Norfolk home and my rooms in Grimpen Lane. He’d already nobbled Donata’s home in Oxfordshire by recruiting her cousin Edwin. As Viscount Breckenridge, Peter had an estate in Hampshire and one in Kent, in addition to a house in Brighton, but of course Stanton knew all about those too.
I let out a measured breath. “I am trusting you with my wife and son’s well-being.”
This earned me a cold look. “Forgive me, Captain, but this has nothing to do with you. Lady Breckenridge is protecting her son from an opportunist, fearing he will resort to kidnapping to enforce his claim on the young viscount. Your part is not to betray, by any act or word, the viscount’s whereabouts, and to let her ladyship’s man of business reinforce her husband’s will with the courts.”
I swallowed the first hot words that came to me. “You are telling me to step out of the way in a matter closely concerning my wife and stepson.”
“Yes. It is very important that you do so.”
“Because,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “if it is made to look as though I took Peter away, Stanton will use that for fuel in his case. Stepfather not to be trusted, will do anything to put his hands on Peter’s money …”
“Just so.”
“Damn it all.” I loosened my grip on the chair so I could run a tense hand through my hair. “Quiet happiness is all I asked for. I thought that marrying Donata, sharing my life with her, would make me the happiest of men. All I’ve done is bring trouble to her door.”
“Trouble would have come with or without you,” Denis said. “She is a wealthy widow, and not a timid creature. An unscrupulous man might have coerced her into marriage by embarrassing her after she had an affair with him, or otherwise threatened her and her son. You were a safe gentleman to ally herself with.”
I gave a short laugh. “And here I’d convinced myself she’d fallen in love with me.”
“She is very fond of you, I believe.”
Denis said this without changing expression, and I laughed again.
“What a romantic you are. Everyone is to marry for practical reasons only, are they?”
“Marriage has been, since ancient times, a legal contract. Men and women have treated it as such ever since.”
“Very philosophical.” I sat back in the chair, forcing myself to relax. “Did you ever consider marriage yourself? As a purely business arrangement, of course.”
“Once,” Denis surprised me by saying. “And not for business or legal purposes. But I was very young, and fortunately came to my senses in time.”
A surge of avid curiosity cut into my worry. “I’d be very interested to hear this story. Never tell me that you, James Denis, fell in love.”
“Infatuation and the folly of youth.” A faint smile quirked his lips, but I saw darkness in his eyes. “I learned, alas, that she was a fraud and a confidence trickster, and had expected to defraud me. I had a lucky escape, but learned a lesson.”
“Good Lord.” I blinked. “I’d think you’d have asked her to join your enterprise.”
“I pondered the idea, but realized quickly she could not be trusted. She would have considered it leverage to be my wife, and it would have been a grave mistake to let her have that. And so I disappointed her.”
“I see. What happened to this young lady?” I asked in some trepidation.
Denis spread his hands. “I do not know. She moved on—to another victim, presumably. No, I did not exact vengeance or do anything sinister to her. As I say, I was young, and more credulous than I realized. The incident did not cast a pall over my life, or make me the cynical man you see before you. I was fairly cynical before I met her, as you know. But it taught me much about trust. Perhaps letting your son’s whereabouts remain secret will give you a few lessons in trust.”
I admired how neatly he turned the conversation back around to me and my shortcomings.
His story gave me much to think about, however. Denis with a thwarted love in his past was intriguing. I wondered very much about the lady, and concluded she must have been an excellent trickster to gain the interest of Denis. And very charming indeed if he let her go, doing nothing to punish her for her sins.
I did not entertain the notion that he was bowed by the tragedy of it, nor had he turned into a cold-blooded criminal to take his revenge on the cruelty of the world. Such was the stuff of opera. Denis had once told me of his life as a child and what he’d had to do to survive. I believed him when he said he’d been plenty cynical before he’d met the lady.
“You once told me the best way to keep a secret is to share it with no one,” I reflected. “Will you give me your word that Donata and Peter are perfectly safe? And will come to no harm?”
Denis looked directly into my eyes, his dark blue ones cool but still. “You have my word.”
I let out a long breath. “I will have to be content with that.”
Denis had arranged for the men who’d known Finch to speak with me, one at a time, in the dining room.
The first in was a small man called Lewis Downie, who was older than most of Denis’s men. I’d spoken to him before, in Norfolk, when I’d been helping Denis track down a killer. Lewis had been at ease with me then, and he was happy to speak with me now.
“I knew Finchie,” he said comfortably. “Went on circuit with him—oh, years ago. I was a lightweight and he a heavy, so I never fought ’im. But he were a brute all right. Gouged out a fellow’s eye in the ring, then broke the same man’s arm for good measure. People booed him as a villain and won great packets of money on him at the same time.”
“What did you think of him outside the ring?” I asked.
Lewis grinned. “I tried not to. He had his circle—I had mine.”
“What I’m coming around to asking is who you think could have killed him or had him killed. This man who lost his eye?”
Lewis shook his head. “A fighter he beat fair wouldn’t have. When we go into the ring, we expect to be hurt. We just hope it’s not enough to end our careers. Mine ended when I broke all me fingers. They healed but I never could give a good punch again.” He held up a scarred hand that I remembered very capably holding a sledgehammer. “Happily I’m good with the nags and other things. Can still be useful.”
He rested his hand unselfconsciously on the table.
“But what if Finch didn’t beat a man fairly?” I asked.
“Then that man would be well paid. Not all of us believe we’re the best pugilists in the world. Sometimes it’s sensible to take a few coins to go down when we probably would have gone down anyway. There are a few champions, but most of us are just fighters. Another day in the ring.”
“Mmm.” I carefully considered my next question. “Any time you have been a—guest—of His Majesty, were you taken to do exhibition fighting? Say at a gentleman’s home?”
Lewis’s face darkened. “You’ve heard about that, have you? I’ll tell you something for nothing, guv. Once you’re slung into a prison or a hulk, ye cease to be human. I hear tell of a prison what’s built in a circle, where those in a tower in the middle watch ye all day long—ye can’t see them, but they see you. The reformers who like this idea think it’s taking the violence out of ye, but it ain’t natural.” He shuddered. “Don’t know what’s worse, a guard what will beat you for the enjoyment of it, or bloody reformers who think they’re helping ye by breaking your spirit and giving ye nightmares.”
Murder in St. Giles Page 12