"He did once save me from a fiery death," Lady Breckenridge put in.
Grenville gave us both a severe look. "That is all very well. However, it does not negate the fact that Denis is a thief, a smuggler, an extortionist, a sometime murderer, and deep in corruption of all sorts. Such a man does things only for his own gain, and he cannot be trusted not to turn on you at any moment. Remember that."
He stopped talking when Lady Breckenridge looked past him and raised her brows. The pugilist I'd chased away had opened the door quietly.
Grenville scowled at him, looking in no way embarrassed. "Yes, what is it?"
The pugilist addressed his words to me. "I can't find Cooper, guv."
"No?" I asked. "Did he go back to Easton's?"
"Couldn't say. Want us to carry on?"
"In all other rooms, yes. Keep dragging out the debris for the fire."
The lackey touched his forehead in an approximate salute. "Right, guv."
He disappeared and the banging recommenced. I drew a breath. "Donata, this is a bad place for now. I'd rather see you lounging in luxury at Lady Southwick's."
"Where the decor hurts my eyes," Donata said, but she came to me and kissed my dusty cheek. "I will start making lists about what to do in these rooms. Your mother seems to have liked pink and yellow, so we'll keep those colors. Do give a thought to letting those men take out the paneling, as long as they do not damage the beams as I instructed. The wood is rotting, and they seem keen. Why not make them do the work?"
As always, her clearheaded practicality bandaged my rather messy emotions. She'd have made an excellent officer's wife-one who followed the drum, that is. Breckenridge had been an officer but had left his lady well at home.
"Make use of my carriage and my lackeys, my lady," Grenville said. "I'm for a walk. The rain has cleared, the air is deuced fine, and my English heart is lifted. How about it, Lacey?"
I declined. "I want to stay here and keep an eye on things."
"I do not blame you. In that case, I will tramp alone and wend my way back to Lady Southwick's. I'll observe the birds soaring over the trees and rejoice in the countryside as I go."
We agreed on our separate courses, and I walked with Donata out to the carriage. Part of Grenville's motivation for his walk was that he grew ill in carriages swaying through the countryside. He did not have as much trouble in the city, where the distances were short, and his coach moved slowly through traffic. He also did not succumb when he drove his own conveyance. But put him in a chaise and four on the open road, and he became a slave to nausea and dizziness.
I kissed Donata on the cheek before I helped her into the waiting coach. She clung to my hand a moment and whispered, "You are a good man, Gabriel. Never forget that."
Then, with her usual aplomb, she settled into the landau and directed Grenville's coachman, Jackson, to drive on.
Matthias asked leave to join Grenville on his tramp, and the two of them walked off across what had been the park. I was glad Matthias accompanied him, because though the country seemed open, there were hidden corners and marshy hollows to traverse. Grenville was so obviously a wealthy man, and who knew what strangers lurked in the shadows, waiting for a mark. In these times, people grew desperate. Matthias, a sturdy lad, could protect him.
Once my friends had gone, I returned to helping Denis's men tear down my house. We carried timber and rotted floorboards into a clear space in the old garden and piled it for a bonfire. I fetched an old spade and broke the grasses away from the pile so the fire wouldn't spread.
In this flat country with its huge sky, the sun stayed well in sight through the evening. When we lit the bonfire at seven o'clock, the sunset still outshone it.
Cooper had not returned. Denis's men and I warmed ourselves around the welcome bonfire, and were still there when, around half past seven, Matthias came running, running up the path from the park.
"Sir," he panted. He had to bend double, hands on knees to catch his breath. "You need to come, Captain. Now!"
Chapter Five
"Grenville," I said, my heart in my throat.
Matthias shook his head, sweat dripping from the blond giant's hair. "No, sir. Not Mr. Grenville. You need to come."
I wasted no time. Grenville had, once before, investigated by himself on my behalf and come to grief. Despite Matthias's assurances, I wanted to find him quickly.
The horse I'd borrowed from Lady Southwick had wandered off who knew where. Searching for him would take too long, so I hobbled after Matthias the best I could.
Denis's men followed us, and Matthias led us south and east, a couple of miles across farmland to a silent windmill. It stood dark and tall above us, and I recognized it as the one I had seen through the windows at Easton House.
The fan blades hung still, one coming to rest just above the windmill's door, which had been broken open. Grenville stood in the doorway. Four of Denis's men were there as well, one with a lantern, and Grenville was arguing with them.
He was trying to keep them out. Matthias pushed fearlessly through the lot, opening the way for me.
Grenville did not bother with a greeting. He beckoned to me then stepped through the door into the windmill. I confiscated the lantern and ducked under the low lintel.
The interior of the windmill was dark and silent, with a wide board floor covered with broken pieces of a stair that had once led to the rooms above. Water trickled somewhere below us. In this dank place, my lantern shone as a warm star.
The light fell on the outstretched body of a man lying on his back, his face black with blood. It was a gruesome sight, a bloody pulp where his face had been, his hair soaked red, his arms outstretched, hands open.
"Dead." Grenville sounded stiff. "He's cool, and I couldn't detect breath."
The man was tall, his limbs large, hands and feet huge. He wore a workman's shirt, serge coat, cotton knee breeches, and heavy shoes, a costume no different from those of the men who waited outside.
"Is it Cooper?" I asked.
"I have no idea. I never met Cooper."
"Do they know?" I gestured to the men peering through the doorway.
"They were all for dragging him out, putting him in a cart, and dumping him into the sea. But this was a murder. We need a magistrate."
I looked down again at the man sprawled on the damp stone floor. James Denis was a law unto himself, the men who worked for him, his deputies. I did not know whether they wanted to keep the death quiet so they could exact vengeance on their own, or to keep up Denis's facade of invulnerability. Much of Denis's power lay in the myth that he and his could never be touched.
The men at the door turned way abruptly, and worried conversation arose. I handed Grenville the lantern and went back outside.
Another large man was coming down from the house, also carrying a lantern. Next to him walked the unmistakable form of James Denis.
Denis was striding down the path toward the windmill, his tall, slim form emphasized by his high hat and the cloak that flowed from his shoulders. He walked briskly, and his lackeys fell silent as he approached.
Denis swept his gaze over the scene. He was a youngish man, thirty at most, with an unlined, square face, a long nose, and dark blue eyes that looked black in this light. Those eyes were cold, as always, and now the look in them was glacial. I noted that his men tried very hard not to be caught in the path of that icy stare.
He ignored them to rest his gaze on me. "Who is in there, Captain?"
"It might be Cooper," I said. "He's not been seen all afternoon. But the man's been beaten, and I cannot tell who it is."