"Or, she was with a second lover," Pomeroy speculated. "A gent jealous of the gent what gave her the ring. They quarrel about the first gent, he kills her-accidentally or on purpose-but doesn't know she's wearing the ring."
"Could be," Thompson said.
Thompson did not sound interested in nebulous lovers. He was interested in the ring, a concrete link to a man, whoever he might be-husband, lover, father. No middle-class man had purchased that ring; it had a patina to it, was possibly part of a family collection. Jewelers served families for decades. If Thompson could identify who'd made the ring, he'd be closer to finding the man who owned it.
The boatman gazed silently at the ring, looking a bit irritated that he hadn't found it before he'd reported the body to Thompson.
Thompson closed his hand around it. "We could put out a notice about the ring, but that would likely only bring us a flood of people who want to take home a pretty gewgaw. The killer will probably be wise enough to let the ring go. Or we could inquire at jewelers."
He looked at Pomeroy, whose face fell. I knew he was hating the thought of walking up and down London calling on every jeweler from the river to Islington. Pomeroy preferred chasing known thieves and tackling them instead of slow, painstaking investigation.
Pomeroy shot a look at me and brightened. "The captain here knows many of the posh and upper classes. Maybe he could ask about who it belonged to."
Thompson eyed me with less enthusiasm. He didn't know me and had no reason to trust me, though it was not unusual for a civilian to assist in crime solving. The magistrates' offices had nowhere near the resources they needed to patrol the London metropolis, although the City of London itself had its own police. A citizen was expected to give chase and make an arrest when necessary as well as to bring perpetrators to court and prosecute them.
Thompson would use me as a resource if he could, though I would get no monetary compensation. Runners received rewards if criminals were convicted, but a gentleman like myself did not get paid as a thief taker. If I helped with an arrest and prosecution, it would be Thompson or Pomeroy who would reap the reward.
Thompson drew his forefinger and thumb down the sides of his mouth. "Do you think you could find out quickly, Captain? Every moment could take the murderer a step closer to the Continent."
"If he decides to run," Pomeroy said.
"I know a man who could possibly help," I said. "This is a prominent man's ring, and he knows prominent gentlemen's jewelers."
I could imagine Grenville's long nose quivering with interest when I presented the ring. Little exciting had happened since we'd concluded the regimental affair in the summer, and he had told me point blank last time we'd met that I needed to find him some new amusement.
Thompson nodded and dropped the ring into my hand. "Ask your questions, Captain. Tell me the answers tomorrow."
I liked that the man spoke quickly and decisively; he was deferential but not fawning. I gave him my word that I would keep him apprised of my success or lack of it, and he acknowledged it with the barest nod.
I had not mistaken the look in Thompson’s eyes. He, like me, did not like puzzles to remain unsolved. And he, like me, wanted to find the person who had killed the pretty young woman on the shore. I could not imagine what harm a small woman like her could have caused anyone, and I was angry at whoever had hurt her.
I looked at her again, lying still, gray, her lips slack, her fair hair limp. I slipped the ring into my pocket, took my leave of the men, and returned to the world above.
I reached Grosvenor Street in Mayfair at ten o'clock. The thoroughfare was packed with carriages, as I had expected it to be. No one who was anyone refused an invitation to one of Lucius Grenville's soirees, even on a cold January night.
I descended my very unfashionable hackney at the end of the line of carriages, paid over my shillings, and walked the rest of the way to Grenville's house.
The facade of Grenville's home was unostentatious, even plain. The simplicity of the outside, however, hid a magnificent interior, made even more magnificent tonight.
Grenville's fortune was vast, his taste impeccable. Chandeliers glittered above a wide marble staircase that lifted to a landing arched like a Roman piazza. Hothouse flowers graced every niche of the staircase and expansive hall, their reds and blues and oranges vibrant against the white marble walls. The scent of the flowers mixed with that of the people-perfume, soap, pomade, fabric, perspiration.
I'd had the privilege of being shown over this house from top to bottom, of entering the rooms into which Grenville invited very few. Those private rooms revealed glimpses of the real man-intellectual, curious, fascinated by the world; tonight, the public rooms showed only the lavishness that people expected from him.
I joined the throng entering the house, bowing politely to a matron and daughter and allowing them to enter before me. Both the women glittered from head to foot with diamonds.
The hall was loud with people talking, laughing, calling to friends they had not seen since the hunting season in autumn. Over this din soared the voice of a popular Italian tenor.
The purpose of a soiree was not only to enjoy drink, food, music, and the company, it was also to press one's way upstairs to greet the host. Grenville stood on the landing above, surrounded by a swarm of people eager for a few minutes conversation with him. He bowed and talked and shook hands, the gracious host. Gentlemen lingered to look over his clothes; ladies young and old smiled and flirted.
Tonight, Grenville wore a fine suit of black in the very latest stare of fashion. His black pantaloons encased tightly muscled legs, and his dancing pumps shone. A diamond stickpin rested like a chip of ice in his carefully tied cravat, and his hair glistened mahogany dark under the chandeliers.
Grenville was not a handsome man, having a long nose, slightly pointed chin, and eyes that glittered like a ferret's; however, these defects did not bother the ladies of London, who viewed him with the same fervor as a gentleman might view an elusive fox.
But Grenville had never married nor showed an inclination to do so. Instead, he squired about well-known actresses, opera singers, and lady violinists with every evidence of enjoyment.
Quizzing glasses came out as I made my slow way up the stairs, gentlemen and dandies scanning me and my regimentals. The ton had grown used to me but still wondered about me, though my situation was not unusual for the time. My family name was old and respected, but my father had run through what was left of the fortune, leaving me nothing.
Many a long-standing family had lost money during the war or the years following it; gentlemen with fine education and family connections were forced to become tutors or secretaries in order to earn a living. They made little more than I did on my half-pay, although their employers no doubt gave them better accommodations than I could afford.
That Grenville had befriended me made polite society talk. Usually their rudeness annoyed me, but tonight I could not help wondering whether a gentleman here had given the young woman on the riverbank the ring, or had murdered her.
When I reached Grenville, his face lit with genuine pleasure. He gripped my hand. "Lacey, there you are. I feared you would not come. The weather is foul."
I made a slight bow. "Not at all. I was honored by the invitation."
It was what I was expected to say, what those around us wanted to hear.
Grenville, however, knew better than to take my words at face value. He leaned toward me, said in a low voice, "I need to speak to you, my friend. You can rest up in my sitting room if you prefer it to the crush. I'll join you when I can."
I grew curious, but I knew he’d explain no further in the press of guests. I nodded, and withdrew, relinquishing his attention to the next guest.