The Glass House (28 page)

But I had come here for another purpose. Mrs.
Danbury had not joined us, and I excused myself, declaring I'd
forgotten my gloves.

I quickly walked back to the drawing room
where Mrs. Danbury had stayed behind to cover the harp. The smell
of beeswax and the ladies' perfumes lingered in the room, and the
laughter and music seemed to as well.

Mrs. Danbury looked at me in surprise. She
settled the dust cover, flapping it like a drapery over a bed.
"Will you not walk, Captain?"

As I moved to her, my expression must have
startled her, because she looked at me in alarm. "Is everything all
right? Has my aunt taken ill?"

"No, no," I said quickly. "Lady Derwent is
well. I returned because I need to speak to you privately."

Her alarm eased, but only marginally. Tonight
Mrs. Danbury wore a dress of blue and lighter blue stripes, bound
by a wide sash, her bodice holding a row of false black buttons
down the front.

"Oh, yes?" Mrs. Danbury asked. "What
about?"

"The fact that you lied to me about my
walking stick. You took it away with you when you left
Inglethorpe's on Wednesday afternoon, did you not?"

She froze, and the cloth fluttered from her
hands. "Why do you say so?"

"I am trying to understand what you did and
why. I admit I am most puzzled."

Her color rose. Mrs. Danbury was different
from the Derwents in that the she did not share their innocence.
She had been married twice, and from what Lady Aline had gossiped
to me, neither marriage had been very happy. Her second husband,
Mickey Danbury, had enjoyed the beds of many women across London,
while sparing little time for his wife. He had been a robust young
man and had died breaking his neck while racing his horse from
London to Brighton.
And a mercy he did,
Lady Aline had
said.

The experience had and made Mrs. Danbury more
world-wise than her uncle, aunt, and cousins, and yet she still
managed to be a gentle-mannered lady.

"Captain Lacey, I am uncertain what to say to
you." She gave me a cool look, reminding me that her station in
life was a good deal higher than mine. "Of what precisely are you
accusing me?"

"I want you to tell me what happened. I know
you took the walking stick. And I cannot help but remember that
Inglethorpe had been in the act of removing his clothing when Mr.
Chapman burst in and killed him. For an assignation, I assumed. But
Inglethorpe was not in a hurry. He removed his clothing and folded
it. He would not have done that unless he'd been well acquainted
with the woman with whom he was about to carry out the affair. A
woman who would wait for him in the next room, or who hid there
when Chapman came rushing in. Lovers of long standing, who no
longer need to undress in a frenzy of passion."

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 was 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."