Chapter Thirteen
I met Grenville at the front door, where he had been barred from further entrance to the house. Once in the carriage, I apprised him in clipped sentences of what had occurred between Denis and me upstairs.
"So there exists a person who worries James Denis?" Grenville asked. "Good God. That is a bit unsettling."
"He seems confident that I can help depose her. Though I am not fool enough to trust everything he told me."
"No, of course not. But he claims to know nothing of Peaches?"
"Nothing whatever. He seemed a bit surprised that I asked."
Grenville fell silent, his dark eyes troubled. He believed I should tread more carefully where James Denis was concerned, and he was right, but Denis infuriated me. He wielded power over too many, and no one seemed disposed to stop him.
We proceeded to Clarges Street, as planned, to interview Marianne. Grenville's house there, round the corner from Piccadilly, looked much as I expected. Narrower than its fellows, the house had a facade of gray plaster with white pediments over the door and windows, and was one of the most elegant on the street.
The interior exuded the same quiet elegance. A polished staircase spilled into a tiled hall, and doors led to high-ceilinged, well-furnished rooms. The foyer smelled of beeswax and linseed oil.
A maid in neat black and white bustled to meet us and curtseyed to me and Grenville. Grenville divested himself of his greatcoat and hat and gave them to the stolid lad who had opened the door for us. "Where is Miss Simmons?" he asked.
The maid hesitated. She glanced at the footman who returned the uneasy glance. "We are not certain, sir," the maid said.
"Not certain? What do you mean, not certain? Is she not in the house?"
"She has not gone out, sir, no. Dickon is positive about that. He has not moved from the front door since early this afternoon, and she had dinner in her room after that."
"She might have gone down through the kitchens," I said.
"No, indeed, sir. She never came through that way. Cook has been down there all the day. We've been watching special."
"Well, she cannot have vanished," Grenville snapped. "She had dinner in her room, you say?"
"Yes, sir. At seven o'clock. I went to put her to bed not an hour ago, but I could not find her. She's not in her bed chamber nor in any of the other rooms."
"Hell," Grenville began.
I cut him off. "Will you allow me to try?"
The boy and the maid stared at me. Grenville's eyes narrowed. "If you believe it will do any good. She has done this before. Damned if I know where she disappeared to."
I was not listening. I moved past them to the stairs, cupped my hands around my mouth, and bellowed, "Marianne!"
My voice echoed up through intricate arches of the stairwell and rang against the painted ceiling, four stories above us. After a moment's silence, a door slammed open near the top of the house, and we heard the sound of light footfalls.
Marianne looked over the railing on the top floor, her golden curls tumbling forward like a girl's. "Is that you, Lacey?"
"What the devil are you doing up there?" Grenville demanded.
Marianne ignored him. "What do you want, Lacey? Have you come to take me home?"
"No, I came to ask you a question."
Marianne's hand tightened on the banister, but she nodded. "Very well. Come up to my chamber."
Grenville started up the stairs. Marianne backed away from the banister, poised to flee. "No. Captain Lacey only."
"This is my house!"
"Lacey alone. Or you can search for me all you like."
I had never seen Grenville so enraged. He rarely let his temper get the better of him, especially not in front of his servants. Now his face was nearly purple, and cords of his throat pressed his cravat.
"Grenville," I said quickly. "Please allow me. I need her help."
Grenville's eyes sparkled with rage. At that moment, I believe he hated me.
But Grenville had spent a lifetime mastering his emotions. His position as the top gentleman of society depended upon him keeping a cool head in every situation. I watched him deliberately suppress his anger, drawing on his sangfroid. His color faded and the alarming throbbing in his neck subsided.
"As you wish," he said stiffly.
He turned and stalked through double doors into the grand drawing room. He even managed not to slam the door.
I ascended the stairs. Marianne came down to meet me on the second-floor landing then led me to a chamber at the back of the house.
It was her boudoir. A sumptuous bed, Egyptian style with a rolled head and foot, reposed under a lavish canopy. Comfortable chairs in the same style stood about, and a bookcase with glass doors offered a fine selection of books. Landscapes of idyllic country scenes hung on the walls, and a dressing table piled with perfume bottles and brushes and combs stood near the warmth of the fire.
Marianne wore a silk peignoir, fastened in front with dark blue ribbons, a finer garment than any I'd ever seen her in. But her face was white, and her hands shook.
"Lacey," she said, her voice low and fierce. "You must make him see reason."
"Why? What has Grenville done?"
"He has made me his prisoner, that is what he has done! He will not let me go out unless Dickon or Alicia stay close by my side. They are dull company, I must say. And I may go only to places he allows me to go."
I sat down without invitation, easing my hurt leg. "Perhaps he does not want you running off to another protector."
"Why the devil should I? There's not a gentleman in London who can give girl a finer house and better dinner than Lucius Grenville, and everyone knows it."
"Then what is the matter?"
She pointed a rigid finger at the door. "What is the matter is him. He will not cease bombarding me with questions. He wants to know why I want to go out and where I want to go and why the devil I want to go alone. It is my business, I say."
"He has made a considerable investment in you, Marianne."
"Lacey, you must take me out of here. Ma Beltan's place is at least respectable, and a girl can feel like she owns her own soul."
The blue ribbons trembled. Her eyes were wide, pleading.
"I would have thought you'd like living in luxury," I said. "This house is one of the finest I've ever seen, and he's showered you with whatever you could want."
"He has." She looked angry to admit it. "He has given me plenty of gifts. But he dogs my footsteps. I cannot bear it."
"You puzzle me, Marianne. I had it in my mind that you liked Grenville's attentions."
A flush stole over her cheeks. "I do."
"Then why not stay and enjoy what he gives you? You have always encouraged me to get as much out of him as I could."
"Because I- " Marianne stopped. I saw her rearrange her words. "I cannot be his prisoner. No matter how gilded the cage."
"Who is it you want to leave the house to visit?"
Her flush returned. "No one."
"Grenville deserves to know whether you have another lover. Or a husband."
She gave me a scornful look. "Do not be daft, Lacey. I would not let a husband live off me even if I had one. Or a lover."
"Then what did you do with Grenville's money?"
Marianne chewed on her lower lip. The previous year, Grenville had made her spontaneous presents amounting to thirty guineas in total, a goodly sum. The money had disappeared with no explanation.
"I told you before," she said. "I gave it to my sick granny."
"No, you said it was your sick mum. What happens to the money, Marianne?"
"Are you spying for him now?"
"No." I stopped before I lost my temper. "Anything you tell me, I will not impart to him, unless you give me leave."
"Oh, yes, I forgot, you pride yourself on your honor. But I will say again, it is none of your business. And none of his, either. The money was mine to do with what I liked, so I did what I liked. I did not give it to another man. I am not that foolish."