I informed Bartholomew I would be dining at the Derwents' that evening, and he brightened at the chance to brush my regimentals again. Dining with the Derwents would also give me the opportunity to question Mrs. Danbury about the walking stick. The questions might pain me, but I would ask them. I needed to know the truth.
Sir Montague sent a message in return that he'd made an appointment to speak to Lady Jane at a Mayfair hotel, courtesy of James Denis. He invited me to join him there at two o'clock that afternoon.
I spent the morning putting my affairs together then journeyed to Davies Street to arrive at two, my curiosity high, hoping we'd see an end to The Glass House this very day.
The hotel on the corner of Davies and Brook streets was fairly new, lived in by those staying in London for the Season but not wanting the bother of opening a house. Lady Jane was not staying there, Sir Montague informed me when I arrived; rather, we were using the hotel as neutral ground.
We followed a footman to a private sitting room, and there, we met Lady Jane.
She was a stout matron, and so unlike what I had been expecting that I could only stare at her at first. She wore a widow's cap over her black hair, and her face was round, red, and lined, a provincial woman's face. Her mauve pelisse of fine fabric was tastefully trimmed with a gray fringe, and her gray broadcloth skirt shone dully in the candlelight. The suit spoke of care and expense, but her eyes held a light as hard and shrewd as a horse trader's.
She extended a hand to me, and I bowed over it as expected. She withdrew, scarcely looking at me, and sat down in a chair. The hotel's footman set a footstool at her feet, fetched another for Sir Montague, and faded away.
"Sir Montague," Lady Jane said. Her accent was only slight, barely betraying her origins. "What may I do for you?"
"I would like you to tell me about a gentleman called Kensington," Sir Montague began. "I believe you employ him."
"Possibly." Lady Jane smoothed her skirt and looked from Sir Montague to me. "I employ many gentlemen."
"He is not quite a gentleman," Sir Montague said. "In fact, I would like to arrest him."
Chapter Seventeen
Lady Jane looked appropriately distressed. "Do you indeed?"
"Yes," Sir Montague said cheerfully. "I will arrest him for running a bawdy house, but I want to be careful. Witnesses are all very well, but magistrates in the past have been persuaded to drop the case against The Glass House, and I fear the same will happen again."
"Will it?" Lady Jane's eyes flickered, although I could tell she knew bloody well that the case would be dropped again, if he pursued it. "I sympathize with your frustration, Sir Montague."
"Therefore, I probably will not be bringing charges against The Glass House itself, since my aim was simply to close it. But I would like to not let Mr. Kensington get away. He would simply find another house to manage."
"You are no doubt correct."
"It would be very helpful if I could find more reason to arrest him. And witnesses. I would appreciate any light you can shine on this gentleman and his activities."
The quiet in the room belied the tension here. The fine silk furnishings, the paneled walls, and high ceiling, all elegant and tasteful, seemed to cringe at the rather sordid business taking place among them.
Lady Jane remained still, but I sensed thoughts moving at rapid speed behind her eyes. If she betrayed Kensington, she would not be trusted in her world again. But if she did not betray him, Sir Montague would turn around and have Kensington betray her. No doubt Denis had thought of this, which is why he'd arranged for the meeting. I wondered what Denis how threatened Lady Jane to coerce her to attend.
Lady Jane wet her lips. "I believe I have heard that Mr. Kensington banks at Barclay's," she said. "He has a man of business in High Holborn. If Kensington does make money from this Glass House, no doubt you will find the evidence there. And perhaps, just perhaps, you will find servants at The Glass House who might help you against Mr. Kensington in return for being spared prosecution."
Sir Montague smiled and nodded. "Perhaps. I had thought of that. Your suggestions are apt." He shifted his bulk, and the chair legs creaked. "The Glass House is now closed. The owner has died, the property passed on. A reformer has spread the word about it, and some members of Parliament have taken notice, enough to make magistrates in the pay of The Glass House nervous."
He beamed, happy. Lady Jane simply sat, quiet in defeat.
Sir Montague turned to me. "Captain? Was there anything you wished to ask?"
A small smile flickered at the corner of Lady Jane's mouth. "Ah, yes, Captain Lacey. Mr. Denis speaks highly of you."
I ignored this. "Last Monday, the woman who owned The Glass House was killed. Peaches-her real name was Mrs. Chapman-left the house just after four o'clock. She told Mr. Kensington, with whom she'd quarreled, that she was on her way to keep an appointment. I would very much like to know what appointment, and with whom."
Lady Jane watched me with eyes that were shrewd and cold. She reminded me of Denis-careful and unemotional-though she did not share his elegance or smoothness of character.
"I am afraid I cannot help you, Captain," she said. "I did not know Mrs. Chapman very well."
"I know she told Kensington she wanted to see you, to tell you a few things about him. Right after that, she departed to keep an appointment. Was that appointment with you?"
"No," Lady Jane said.
"And you have no idea with whom she was meeting?"
"No, Captain."
"Question the servants, you said. I wonder, if Mr. Pomeroy arrested your coachman and made him confess, would the coachman tell us that he was instructed to have the carriage ready for Mrs. Chapman's use any time she wanted it? Including the last day of her life? Pomeroy usually has no trouble obtaining information from those he arrests." Mostly because of his bellowing voice, which frightened suspects into obedience long before Pomeroy would have to start using his fists.
The room grew silent again. Sir Montague watched me, a faint smile on his face.
Lady Jane's long hesitation betrayed her. Of course, I thought. Thompson had found no hackney drivers that had taken Peaches anywhere, and he'd concluded she'd taken a private conveyance, but whose? Not Lord Barbury's. His coachman had been questioned. Chapman did not keep his own carriage, and Peaches would hardly use it to visit to The Glass House anyway.
But what if Lady Jane's coach were available to Peaches as part of payment for Lady Jane's use of the house? Peaches could start for Sussex on a public conveyance then arrange for Lady Jane's carriage to retrieve her from a coaching inn and return her to London. Lady Jane's coachman would have no reason to run to the magistrate to report this. Better for him all around to keep quiet.
"I believe," Lady Jane ventured, "that Mrs. Chapman enjoyed the use of my carriage now and again."
"I am pleased to hear it," I said. I looked about the elegant room again, which seemed to have brightened. The maroon and blue hues stood out more, the gold glistened. "Now I know where we stand."
Sir Montague smiled at me. All was well in his world.
I had a second appointment that afternoon, which I'd nearly forgotten in the week's events, but which I remembered just in time. I made my way to Hyde Park after Sir Montague and I left the hotel and reached the stables at my appointed hour of three o'clock.
Every second Sunday, I met a young man called Philip Preston and gave him a riding lesson. I had met him during the affair of Hanover Square, in which he had been much help, and it pleased me to be able to assist the lad in return. His mother's doctor still insisted he was weak and sickly, but Philip had grown stronger and more robust every time I saw him.