As the carriage wound through the streets to Cavendish Square, I showed Grenville the scrap of lace and explained about the servants' passage at the Berkeley Square house and my thoughts about it. As I talked, Grenville's expression changed from frustrated anger to one that was worried and grim.
"If this is true, Lacey," he began. He broke off, as though unable to complete the thought. "I never believed…"
Grenville trailed off again, closed his mouth, and looked away in uncomfortable silence.
The Bennington house in Cavendish Square was quiet. We were admitted by a maid I'd not seen before, who curtseyed to us and led us to a reception room to wait. Grenville paced, moody and quiet, while Lady Breckenridge looked about her with interest.
Mrs. Bennington's maid, Grady, entered the room not long later and sent the three of us a look of disapproval.
"My lady has decided she is not receiving tonight," Grady said.
I had feared as much. "I do not wish to disturb her for long." I took the scrap of lace from my pocket. "Please give her this, and tell her Captain Lacey wishes to ask her about it."
Grady frowned but when she saw what I held out to her, paled. "She will know nothing about that."
"Take it to her, please."
Grady pressed her mouth closed. She snatched the lace from my hand and marched swiftly from the room.
Grenville shot me a dark look. "Lacey, you cannot mean that Claire Bennington committed this crime, can you? I simply will not believe it."
"I do not know whether she committed it. That is why I want to ask her questions."
Grenville paced again, his distress evident. "She could not have killed Turner. She is not strong enough. She's only a girl."
He seemed inordinately upset, more so than a gentleman with simple concern for a young woman. Before I could speak further, Grady returned. She did not look pleased but said we could go up.
Grady led us to the sitting room in which Mrs. Bennington had received me on my last visit. This time the salmon-striped sofa and chairs were strewn with gowns, bonnets, and shawls. I was reminded of Turner's rooms when the valet, Hazleton, had emptied the cupboards in preparation for sending Turner's things back to his father.
Grenville looked at the jumble in surprise. "You are leaving London?"
Mrs. Bennington flinched and avoided his gaze. "Grady, why did you let Mr. Grenville come here? I wanted only Captain Lacey."
"I came to help you," Grenville said, anger in his tone.
"We don't want your help," Grady retorted.
Mrs. Bennington sank to a chair and put her hand to her forehead. "I have such a headache. I do not want these people. Send them away; I feel unwell."
"You see?" Grady said to Grenville. "You have upset her again."
"I have done nothing of the sort. Claire, Captain Lacey has come to ask you about the murder of Henry Turner. I know you had nothing to do with it, and if you answer honestly, I can make him take his questioning elsewhere."
I stared at Grenville in amazement. His face was red, his gaze uncomfortable.
Mrs. Bennington's eyes swam with tears. "My head. Grady, I need my draught."
Grady rushed to the cupboard and pulled out a glass bottle full of dark liquid.
Lady Breckenridge, who had lifted a silk shawl to admire it, suddenly laughed. "Good heavens, how dramatic we are." She folded the shawl and replaced it on the chair. "We are not on the stage, Mrs. Bennington. Captain Lacey only wishes to know what became of that bit of lace you asked of me."
"Oh." Mrs. Bennington sat up, looking relieved. "From your ballgown? You ought to have said. I gave it to my husband."
"Your husband?" I asked. "What on earth for?"
"Because he asked me to."
She seemed to think this a fine enough reason. "Did it not occur to you to wonder why?" I asked.
"Not really."
"I think you do know why," I said. "I believe that you know more than any of us about this matter."
She looked bewildered. "How could I?"
"You play the dupe well, Mrs. Bennington," I said. "But I believe you are not one."
Mrs. Bennington gazed at me, stunned, then the eyes that bewitched London audiences each night filled with tears.
"Leave her be, Lacey," Grenville said.
"I cannot. She is key to this. I want Colonel Brandon released, and I will do what I must to bring it about."
"Including browbeating a young woman?"
I stared at him. Grady had accused Grenville of shouting at Mrs. Bennington and throwing his walking stick, but now he bristled at me like a guard dog.
"Mrs. Bennington," I said, gentling my tone. "Why did your husband ask you to obtain a piece of lace from Lady Breckenridge?"
"I don't know. It was a game of some sort."
"A wager?" I supplied.
Her brow cleared. "Yes, that was it. He wagered that I could not obtain a piece of lace from a highborn lady. Because I am so lowborn, you see."
"He said that?" Grenville asked, face thunderous. "What the devil made you marry that lout? Do not tell me you could not have the pick of gentlemen on the Continent."
"He was good to me," Mrs. Bennington said. "I had debts-he paid them. He must be kind to do that."
Or he'd wanted something. Claire Bennington, absorbed in herself and her life on stage, would not have realized that.
"Is he kind to you?" I asked.
"I suppose he is." Mrs. Bennington pressed delicate fingers to her temples. "Really, Captain, my head does ache."
Grady, her face set, poured a thick liquid into a small glass and pushed it at Mrs. Bennington.
Lady Breckenridge, still looking interested, sat down amid a pile of velvet gowns. "So you handed over the scrap of lace to your husband. When was that?"
"Oh, good heavens, I hardly remember." Mrs. Bennington took the draught from Grady and drank it down. She sighed in contentment when she handed the glass back, as though her headache already had started to fade. "Before supper, certainly. My husband escorted Lady Aline to the supper room. He'd told me to obtain the scrap of lace from her, but I'd only had opportunity to speak to Lady Breckenridge. Mr. Bennington was annoyed, I remember, that I had not approached Lady Aline."
Who was large and strong and could have driven a knife into Turner's heart were she cruel enough to do so.
"Do you love your husband, Mrs. Bennington?" I asked abruptly.
Her eyes widened. "Why ask that?"
"Because he is a murderer," I said. "And I wondered if you would help me or be loyal to him."
Chapter Eighteen
Lady Breckenridge looked at me in complete astonishment. "Mr. Bennington?" She grew thoughtful. "Yes, I see."
Mrs. Bennington lowered her gaze. "I should be loyal. He is my husband."
Grady broke in fiercely, "She's nothing to do with it. I'll not see her in the dock for this."
"Nor will I," I said.
I tried to sound reassuring, but Grady moved between me and her mistress. "She is innocent. She can't help what that fiend of a husband does."
"I know," I said. "I imagine Mr. Bennington used her from the moment he met her. He knew that as the husband of a celebrated actress, he would be eclipsed by her, and he was correct."
Grenville did not look terribly surprised by my assessment, but he was not happy.
Lady Breckenridge's eyes sparkled with interest. She was possibly the only person in the room not charged with emotion.
"I can work out how he must have done it," she said. "He challenged Mrs. Bennington to obtain a bit of lace from a lady. Which she did-from me. Mr. Bennington goes into the anteroom at some time before supper, opens the door to the servants' passage, and affixes the lace to the nail to mark the door he needed. He does not want to use something of his own or his wife's in case it is found.