She'd taken to inviting me to gatherings at which she launched musicians or poets into society and made it clear that I could add her to my list of afternoon calls. I rarely made calls, but since my return from Berkshire I had several times sat in her drawing room sipping tea while other members of the ton stared at me and wondered why I'd turned up.
I bade Bartholomew accompany me back to Mayfair, and we made our way to South Audley Street and Lady Breckenridge's home. I used Bartholomew as a scout to discover whether Lady Breckenridge had received anyone else that afternoon. If she had guests in her drawing room, I would take my battered face away.
Bartholomew returned with the news that the lady was alone. Relieved, I descended from the hackney coach and went inside.
Lady Breckenridge's butler, Barnstable, looked at me in shock. "Sir?"
I gave him a smile that pulled at my sore face. "Will I frighten her ladyship, do you think?"
"No, sir." He continued to stare at me. "Her ladyship is made of stern stuff. I have just the thing to put on those bruises, sir. Take them down in no time."
Barnstable, it seemed, had remedies for everything. He had, a few months ago, treated my sore knee with hot towels and a penetrating ointment, which he'd graciously sent home with me. I'd begun to believe in Barnstable and his remedies.
One of Lady Breckenridge's footmen, looking no less dismayed at my state than the butler, led me up the stairs. He did not take me to the drawing room, but led me up another flight to Lady Breckenridge's private rooms. When he opened a door and ushered me inside, I realized I'd been shown to her boudoir.
Lady Breckenridge's entire house was very modern, and this room was no exception. A Roman couch faced the fireplace, and windows were elegantly draped in light green silk to complement the cream-colored walls. Thick carpet under my boots warmed the room.
Lady Breckenridge entered only a few moments after the footman left me. Today she wore a peignoir of gold silk and had threaded a wide, ivory-colored bandeau through her dark hair. When she saw my bruised face, her reaction was predictable.
"Good God," she said, stopping on the threshold.
"Forgive me," I said. "I decided to participate in a boxing match before making my calls today."
She came all the way into the room and closed the door behind her, but her expression did not alter. "Whom did you anger this time, Gabriel?"
"A Frenchman searching for something he could not find."
Lady Breckenridge raised her brows, and I explained the incident. As I spoke, Barnstable bustled in with a steaming bowl on a tray. He politely waited until I finished then bade me to sit on the Roman couch.
I did so and stretched my aching leg to the fire. Barnstable dipped a cloth in the liquid and touched it to my face. It hurt like fury and at the same time soothed.
"You ought to be a physician, Barnstable," I said.
"Indeed, no, sir." He sounded affronted.
Lady Breckenridge watched the proceeding without speaking. She wandered to a small rosewood table, pulled a black cigarillo from a box, and lit it with a candle.
"Are you certain this robbery was connected with Turner's death?" she asked as thin smoke wreathed her face.
"I am certain of nothing." I inhaled the heady-smelling steam that Barnstable waved beneath my nose. "If he were a mere robber, he would have taken the snuffboxes, which were costly. But he held on to the letters he found in my pocket."
"Why would a Frenchman be interested in letters written by Mrs. Harper?"
"That I do not know. I do not know anything." Colonel Brandon was being uncommonly stubborn, I had only vague accounts of what had happened at the ball, and both Louisa and Mrs. Harper had convinced themselves that Brandon had murdered Turner.
"If your line of thinking is that Mrs. Harper stabbed Turner before she screamed, you will be wrong," Lady Breckenridge said, breaking my thoughts. "She did not. At least, not then."
"How do you know?"
She took a pull of the cigarillo. "Because I saw her. When Mrs. Harper went into the anteroom at twelve, she left the door ajar. I could look right in and observe her."
I sat up straight, pressing Barnstable's hand aside. "Why did you not say so?"
"I did not have the chance. Your Mr. Pomeroy turned his attention to Colonel Brandon very quickly, and I had not the time to explain."
Yes, Pomeroy could fix on one purpose and ignore everything else in his path.
"Tell me what Mrs. Harper did," I said as Barnstable calmly returned to patting my bruises and cuts.
"I saw her bend over Turner, then she gave a little start. I suppose that's when she realized he was dead, but of course I had no idea yet that he'd been killed. She moved her hands over him or inside his coat, I could not see exactly. Then she straightened up. She looked at her glove, which was red with blood. She recoiled from it, and that was when she began to scream."
"If you could not see exactly, how do you know she did not press the knife into Turner's chest when she bent over him?"
"Because I did not see a knife in her hand when she went in, nor did I notice her picking one up from the desk. She went nowhere else in the room. Besides, she would have had to put quite a bit of strength behind the blow, would she not? She did not raise her arm or strike out, and in any event, it's likely Turner would have seen her and fought her. Unless Turner were drunk and senseless." Lady Breckenridge shook her head. "No, I do not believe Mrs. Harper stabbed him. It was as though she searched him for something-love letters perhaps? Although I cannot imagine her writing love letters to Turner. But supposing he had letters from her to someone else?"
She was a perceptive woman. "Perhaps," I said cautiously.
Lady Breckenridge glanced at her butler. "Barnstable, will you leave us?"
Barnstable rose and handed me the linen pad. "Of course, my lady. Keep that pressed to the wound, sir. It will take the ill from it."
I promised I would see to it. Barnstable bowed and took himself from the room, closing the door behind him with every show of deference.
"He looked a bit disappointed," I said.
"Of course he is. He is as interested in this business as I am. But he will not listen at the door. He considers that beneath him."
I gave her a smile. "I am certain that my man, Bartholomew, will tell him all he wants to know below stairs."
"I sent him away so that we might speak frankly. Because your colonel was arrested for the crime, I assume that Mrs. Harper was looking for letters she had written to Colonel Brandon, or that he had written to her. This would explain their mutual antagonism toward Mr. Turner."
"You guess well," I said.
She sank to the sofa next to me, crossing her legs in a graceful move. "You must remember that I was there last night. I observed the very strange behavior of Colonel Brandon and Imogene Harper. Did they forget how much the ton gossips? Believe me, today the polite world is grateful to Lord Gillis for providing them with something new to discuss. We were growing tired of who would race what horse at the Derby and what an appalling frock Lady Jersey wore last Thursday. Mind you, it would be much more interesting if Colonel Brandon were one of us, but it will have to do."
She spoke with her usual acid tones, but I took no offense. She was directing her sarcasm at her own circle, not Colonel Brandon.
I removed the linen pad from my face, defying Barnstable's instructions, and laid it across my knee. The warmth of it felt good there. "And what is the ton saying today?"
"I will know more about which way gossip is directed when I go out, but I have already received several notes from my acquaintances regarding the matter. Lady Seville, a girlhood acquaintance who attended the ball, is terribly excited at having been at a gathering where something actually happened, even something so low as murder. Lord Gillis is to blame, she says, for having so many military men among his acquaintance. They are violent, she believes, and do not always have the right connections. Lady Seville puts much store on pedigree."