Denis was bothered. I had never seen him so bothered. Uncharitably, I wondered whether his concern came from fellow feeling or the fear that he'd be perceived as weak if one in his employ was harmed. Both, possibly.
Denis lifted the last of Middleton's correspondence and handed it to me. I read the letter, which was brief and terse and said exactly what Denis had told me it did.
"From his tone," I said, "he seems to have decided the culprit weak and easy to dispatch."
"Yes, he is contemptuous."
I considered. "He could not mean Rutledge. Rutledge would rather bellow threats than write them in letters, and I cannot think of Rutledge as weak and easy to dispatch. Nor would Sebastian, the Romany arrested for his murder, be. Also, Sebastian cannot read, or so he claims."
"A tutor," Denis suggested.
"Or a pupil." I thought of Sutcliff. Was he the sort of young man who would threaten people from afar? Or would he, like Rutledge, prefer to bellow at them face to face? "But what on earth would anyone gain by threatening Middleton? He had no real power at the school. He had a connection to you, but you tell me he'd retired."
I studied the letter again. It also included a line that Middleton had something of interest to speak to Denis about, and hoped he could do so when he next visited London. "What had he intended to tell you? Was he involved in something for you?"
Denis twined his fingers before him. "I must assure you, Captain, that I am as in the dark as you in this matter. Middleton was no longer working for me. He was not young any more, he was tired, he wanted to work with horses again. I found him employment in the stables at the Sudbury School."
I raised my brows. "You found him employment? That might explain why Rutledge grew nervous when I revealed I knew you. Did Rutledge owe you a favor?"
Denis gave me a wintry smile. "Let us focus on the problem at hand, Captain."
I had not really thought he'd give me an answer. I told him then of the canal maps that Grenville and I had found in Middleton's room. Denis' brow knit. "Middleton never mentioned canals to me. At Hungerford, you say? I have heard nothing of any such scheme."
Though his expression remained unchanged, I sensed his annoyance. Denis did not like to be uninformed of or surprised by anything.
I also sensed that one of his tame pugilists was watching us. The man's hands were twitching, and he kept taking a step forward, then a step back, as though unable to decide whether to cross to the desk. I caught his eye. Denis, noticing my interest, looked that way as well.
The man cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sir."
Unlike Rutledge, who hated when his servants interrupted, Denis merely focused a calm gaze on his lackey, waited for him to speak.
The man's voice was gravelly, his working-class accent thick. "I saw Ollie Middleton, sir, in London a month or so back. We had a pint. He said how he remembered why he hated the country, all mud and sheep shit up to his knees, but he would be all right soon. He was going to make his fortune, he said, and eat off gold plates."
"Did he?" Denis asked, arching one thin brow.
"That he did, sir. He did say something about canals. It sounded daft. I thought it was just him going on."
Denis gave him a severe look. "I could wish you had told me this before."
The man, as hard-bitten as he was, looked slightly apprehensive. "Sorry, sir. I didn't think it meant nothing."
"No matter." He kept his unwavering gaze on his lackey for a moment before finally turning away. The man moved back to his position, nervously fingering his collar.
"Perhaps he'd invested in these false canals, then," Denis said to me, "believing he'd grow rich. Though I would be surprised to learn he was that gullible. It would be likely that he was fooling others into investing with him."
I did not answer. I was thinking rapidly, remembering one other man who had rambled on over a pint that he would soon make his fortune and leave the drudgery of the Sudbury School behind. Bloody hell.
"Is something amiss, Captain?" Denis asked, his sharp gaze on me.
I met his appraising glance but did not answer. I was not certain of my speculation, and the last thing I wanted was for Denis to send his minions to fetch Simon Fletcher. Fletcher's pondering might mean nothing and might not be connected to Middleton's at all. I would prefer to question him myself, rather than let Denis get his clutches on the poor man.
"I'd rather you shared your information, Captain," Denis said, a warning note in his voice.
"I have no information. Not yet. Only ideas."
"I want this murderer found and punished, Captain-quickly. I do not have time for your scruples."
"And I am not looking for the murderer in order to please you," I returned. "I wish to clear a young man who I believe is not responsible. Whether you are pleased by it does not concern me."
Denis looked annoyed, but he was used to my temper by now. "Very well, Captain, I know you enjoy pursuing things in your own fashion. But I want the identity of this murderer. Surely we both want that."
"Yes," I admitted. "I will give it to you when I know it for certain."
He gave me a cool look but nodded. He did not trust me entirely, but he did trust my thoroughness.
He folded his hands on his desk, the interview apparently over. With Denis, one did not make pleasant small talk to end one's visit. The visit simply ended.
But I had one more question, one more reason I had decided to visit James Denis today. It was a question I was reluctant to ask, because the knowledge would pain me, but I had finally screwed up my courage to ask it.
"Last year," I began slowly, "you told me you knew the whereabouts of a lady who once called herself Carlotta Lacey."
A flicker of surprise darted through his blue eyes. He must have been wondering when I'd return to that. "Yes. If you want her direction, you know that you have but to ask."
I sat in silence a moment. The room was quiet, ironically, almost pleasantly so. The fire warmed the air despite the rain that beat at the windows. The other men watched me carefully, the only sound the faint whisper of clothing as they shifted their stances.
I wanted to ask, but I knew what would happen if I did. During the affair of Hanover Square and again during the affair of the regimental colonel, Denis had helped me solve the crimes by handing me facts I had lacked. He had let it be known that by doing me those favors, he expected me to be ready when he called in favors of his own. In addition, not a month ago, he had paid a note of hand I had owed, ensuring that I would be still more obligated to him. In this way, he had warned me, he planned to prevent me from crusading against him, since having had me beaten had not had much effect.
He had offered the information about my wife last summer with the same understanding-his knowledge for my obligation. And obligation to James Denis was not to be taken lightly. He used people from all walks of life and all over Europe to help him in his crimes, to procure things, to find things out for him, to let him wield quiet power. The men he hired stole for him, murdered for him, spied for him. I wondered very much what he would expect me to do, and exactly what he would do when I refused.
When I could trust myself to speak again, I asked, "Is she well?"
"Yes," he answered, studying me.
I believed him. Denis' networks could discover details about any person or any thing. He would doubtless know not only where my estranged wife lived, but with whom and where she walked and what she ate for breakfast.
He went on. "My sources tell me that your wife and daughter are well cared for."
I started to nod, then I went still as my mind registered his entire answer. "My daughter," I said.
Denis had told me of Carlotta last summer, but he had omitted, whether deliberately or because he did not think it important, that he also had knowledge of my daughter, Gabriella.