"Simon Fletcher," I responded, staring.
"Yes," said Lewis. "That's the chap."
Thoughts whirled in my brain. ‘Ask Fletcher about canals,’ was the message I'd told Bartholomew to send to Grenville.
Bartholomew had obeyed. My breathing grew sharp. What had I done?
"Lady Aline," I said abruptly. "Mr. Lewis. Good night, I must away."
"What, now?" Lady Aline's brows climbed.
"At once. Please thank Lady Breckenridge for the invitation. It was most enjoyable."
I babbled a few more phrases and got myself out of the room. As I hurried away, I heard Lewis' lugubrious voice behind me. "Goodness. Who was that rude chap?"
It occurred to me as I hastened down the stairs and sent the footman scurrying for my coat that Grenville probably had not come to any harm as a result of my slowness-if he had, I would likely have heard of it by now. Grenville was famous enough so that all newspapers in England would report anything untoward happening to him.
Even so, I worried about him staying alone at Sudbury. I needed to get myself back there and seek out Simon Fletcher. At once.
I heard a step behind me, but it was not the footman with my coat. I turned to see Lady Breckenridge glide downstairs and across the cool black-and-white hall toward me.
I was in a hurry, but I was not displeased that she'd come after me.
"You are leaving?" she asked as she reached me. "I know it cannot be disapproval of the entertainment that drives you away. You have enough sensibility that Vecchio's music could not help but touch you."
I nodded. "He is astonishing, yes. You are right. He will take London by storm."
She smiled, but with a tightness about her eyes. "Why flee, then?"
"I have business in Sudbury. I must go there at once."
Her brows arched. "In the middle of the night?"
"That cannot be helped. I will reach Sudbury by dawn."
Lady Breckenridge placed a gloved hand on my arm. "Several of my guests are commenting on your abrupt departure."
"Please give my apologies to any I annoyed." I glanced up the stairs. "You do not have to see me off. Your tenor must be waiting for you." If I put a touch more acid in my voice than usual, I hoped she did not notice.
She made a face. "He is wallowing in adulation. Vecchio is brilliant, but he was spoiled and petted in Milan. Londoners will take a certain amount of rudeness, but if he is rude to the Prince Regent, he will be out, no matter how lovely his voice. He must learn this."
I tried to make a joke. "It will be as well, then, if I never meet the Prince Regent."
She did not smile. "No, I do not believe he would like you."
The footman was taking a dashed long time looking for my coat. Lady Breckenridge made no move either to summon him or to return to her guests.
"I enjoy receiving your letters," I remarked, for lack of anything else to say.
Her brows lifted. "Really? I thought you'd find them a bit pointed for your taste. Yours, as I observed, are quite dull. You even made the murder sound dull."
"I know," I said. "I have not the wit for writing. Not like Mr. Lewis."
She gave me an odd look then burst into laughter. I'd never heard her laugh before, not truly. It had a warm sound. "You do have wit," she said. "You simply show it to very few people."
"There are very few who care to hear it."
"Perhaps," she said, her fingers tightening on my arm, "you will include me in those few."
Our gazes met. From upstairs came the noise of many people talking and laughing, but the downstairs hall was nearly silent.
"I wonder," I asked eventually, "what has become of my coat?"
Lady Breckenridge gave me a half-smile. "Barnstable is tactfully letting me say my farewells in private. Perhaps when you return to London, Captain, we may meet for another evening of music?"
I lifted her hand and twined my fingers through hers. I expected her to pull away, but she allowed the liberty. "I enjoy music. Mr. Vecchio has a fine voice."
The contact between our hands was fine, too, even if we both wore gloves.
"He can be made into something," she said, "if he stops behaving like a boor." She withdrew her hand, flicked an invisible speck of dust from my lapel. "Go back to Berkshire and write more letters. But make them interesting this time."
"I will," I said. I traced her cheekbone with my fingertips.
Barnstable chose that moment to come bustling from the rear of the house, saying, "Your coat, sir," as though he'd searched for it long and hard.
I let my hand drop and bowed to Lady Breckenridge. By the time Barnstable had helped me into my coat and seen me to the door, Lady Breckenridge was halfway up the stairs. She did not turn back and tell me good-bye.
I made my way as quickly as I could back to Grenville's, my walking stick a rapid staccato on the stones.
Bartholomew was still awake when I reached the house. I told that him I wanted to set out for Sudbury at once, and, unsurprised, he rushed away to fetch the coachman and pack my few things.
We rattled out of town through dark, empty streets. The wealthy were still enjoying their revelries, and the respectable middle class and poor were asleep in their beds. Only beggars, game girls, thieves and other night wanderers moved through the darkness. They gave our rapidly moving coach and Grenville's snarling coachman a wide berth.
We arrived at the Sudbury School just before dawn. I thanked the coachman and told him to take a much-deserved rest. He growled that the horses needed to be tended to first and went off to do it.
Bartholomew and I entered the quad through the gate. The clouded sky was black, forcing us to pick our way across the rain-slicked cobbles with great care.
As I stepped beneath the arches near the door of the Head Master's house, I tripped over a large object that lay across the stones and fell, my stick clattering to the pavement. I climbed to my knees, the breath struck out of me.
"Are you all right, sir?" Bartholomew whispered hoarsely. "What is it?"
My groping hands found a man stretched across the stones, lying there unmoving. The man's coat was soaked with liquid, and my fingers closed around the unmistakable form of a knife's hilt protruding from his chest.
Chapter Fourteen
"Lights!" I cried. "Bring a light."
"What is it, sir?" Bartholomew repeated.
"Get a light, for God's sake. Someone's here and hurt."
Bartholomew brushed past me and thumped away into the house.
I had no idea who lay at my feet. Grenville? I stripped off my gloves, felt my way across the man's shoulders. He still breathed, whoever he was, labored, gasping breaths that were loud in the darkness.
"Grenville?" I whispered, hoping to God I was wrong. "Lie still. Bartholomew has gone for help."
He coughed. "Lacey?"
My heart turned over. It was Grenville. I felt the soft weave of his expensive coat beneath my fingers and the fine cloth of his cravat.
I loosened the cravat's knot and drew the folds from his throat. "Grenville, old friend," I whispered. "Who did this?"
He took a long time to answer. "Don't know. Too dark."
Too much blood stained his chest. My hands were sticky with it.
I cursed. I was tired, and my hands shook. He must have come down to take a breath of air, or to follow someone, or… I didn't know, and I couldn't think.
His face was clammy and cold. I thanked God I did not hear the deadly bubbling sound that meant the knife had pierced his lung-I had heard that horrible sound often enough on the Peninsula. But I feared to withdraw the knife until I could see, lest I hurt him further.
"What happened?" I persisted. "Why were you out here?"
Grenville drew several breaths, as though trying to speak, but he never answered.