I turned back. Woolwich grabbed the flask from me, upended it, and poured a quantity of brandy down his throat. He coughed for a few more seconds, then settled down and breathed easier.
“I knew it,” he whispered. “He’s a bloody murderer.”
“I unfortunately cannot swear to that,” I said. “There is nothing to say his was the hand that struck down Miss Hartman. That is why I came here—to speak to him, to find out all about him.”
“You doubt me?” Woolwich glared imperiously. Onboard ship, his word would have been law. He must have great difficulty ordering about a daughter who only gave him a fond look and obeyed because it suited her.
“I cannot in all good conscience send a man to the gallows if he is not guilty of murder,” I said. “Even if he is a reprobate. I must be certain.”
“Be certain of this, Captain. That man is wrong. He has turned my daughter’s head. She was very much what the dandy set called an ape-leader or on the shelf—so many terms for a useless spinster. Mr. Bennett courted her ardently and led her up the aisle two months after he met her. Long enough for the banns, but not much beyond. He insisted it be done properly. They did not have my blessing, but Margaret was of age, and so was he. Can a father stop two people in their thirties marrying when there is no impediment? He’ll come ’round, I hear her say often enough to Bennett. He is unctuous to me, never says a bad word around me. But what you tell me makes me greatly fear for my daughter.”
I shared his worry. I pictured Gabriella as Judith—romantic, swept off her feet, then beaten down and discarded when the hoped-for wealth from the marriage did not come. The icy dread in my heart matched what must have been in Hartman’s, and now Woolwich’s.
“I understand,” I said. “I have a daughter myself.”
Woolwich heaved himself from his pillows, still clutching the brandy. He seized my hand with his empty one. “Then please, Captain, I beg of you. Do whatever you can to remove that man from my house, and my daughter’s life.”
His clasp held the fierce strength that had once pervaded his body. He must have led his men by force of personality alone.
“I will do what I can,” I said.
Woolwich’s fingers bit down. “No. You rid me of Bennett, or do not come back. I don’t have the luxury of hope.”
He was compelling. Ship’s captains, at least in the Royal Navy, could be horrible martinets who let their crews and all aboard starve while they feasted, or they were forceful men who ensured that anyone under their command was well looked after. Woolwich struck me as the second sort, but one who brooked no fools.
I needed to speak to Bennett, assess for myself what sort of man he was and whether he’d killed Judith, but I found myself making a rash promise.
“I will ensure that he leaves you and your daughter alone,” I told him. “You have my word on it.”
Woolwich continued to grip my hand as he looked into my eyes. He seemed to be satisfied by what he saw, because he finally released me and sank back, relieved.
“I have heard you are a man of honor,” he said, his voice weakening. “I have little to do these days but read every newspaper that comes my way, so do not be surprised that I know exactly who you are. I know that you cut the face of a man in Brooks’s—you claim for cheating, but I have other ideas. You also lit into a gentleman of the ton with your fists for abducting young women, and left him bleeding. I hope you are of the same mettle and haven’t become soft through your marriage. The gentleman I’ve read about is the one who needs to help me.”
“I am that gentleman,” I said with conviction. “As much as my friends despair of me.”
“Good.” Woolwich took another long drink of brandy, then his hand moved fretfully on the covers. “Send my daughter back to me. She is not astute, but she is kindly. Even pretends to like the tales of my voyages.”
“I believe she is quite proud of you,” I said. “Good day to you, sir, and I thank you for your candor.”
“Just take that libertine out of my house,” Woolwich said. “Before he murders me and then Margaret. Viper to my bosom.”
He trailed off into mutters, finished with me. I took my leave, descending the stairs and instructing the footman at the bottom to send Margaret up to the old man.
I also gave the footman my card. “Please tell Mr. Bennett to call upon me at seven this evening,” I said. “In Grosvenor Street. The home of Mr. Grenville.”
The footman looked suitably impressed, as he did with the coins I pressed into his hand. “Yes, sir,” he babbled. “Thank you, sir. I’ll fetch you a hackney, sir.”
***
I’d decided to invite Bennett to Grenville’s for several reasons.
First, I did not want him in South Audley Street anywhere near Gabriella. He might see the obvious wealth of the house and get ideas.
I also did not want him in Grimpen Lane, because I had the feeling that Bennett was a snob. He’d be more likely to rush to speak to me if I gave him Grenville’s address.
I would have to warn Grenville, of course.
Brewster turned up when the hackney did. Before Brewster could climb onto it for our ride through the streets, I pulled him aside.
“Can you arrange to have this house watched?” I asked. “I fear for the inhabitants inside.”
Brewster glanced at the columned façade and gave me a doubtful look. “As I have told you, Captain, I don’t work for you. I can’t tell my colleagues who to watch and where to go. His nibs wouldn’t stand for it.”
“No,” I said. “But you can hire others, whom you trust. Paid for by me.” My allowance should be put to some good.
Brewster had to think about this. “I’d still want to ask Mr. Denis. He’s already put out with me.”
“He is more put out with me, but I am used to it. Even better would be to slip someone into the house, to pretend to be a footman or some such, tell me what happens, and guard the elderly man and his daughter. From everyone, including the daughter’s husband.”
Brewster rubbed his upper lip. “Happens I might know a lad. He’s a real footman, haughty and all. Bit of a thief, though.”
“I will make it worth his while to keep his hands off the silver,” I said testily. “Have your footman tell Captain Woolwich I sent him. I imagine Woolwich still controls who works for the household and who does not.”
“All right, then.” Brewster nodded, a little more at ease. “Where are you off to?”
“To find a horse,” I said.
I’d love to have swung myself up into the carriage on that note and left in dramatic exit, but my knee chose to collapse. Brewster got me inside, conveyed the direction I wanted to the coachman, and slammed the door, looking amused.
***
When I arrived at the South Audley Street house, Bartholomew was waiting for me outside. He had news.
“One Irish hunter, red, with two white stockings and a star,” he said triumphantly as he helped me from the carriage. Then he calmed. “Two, actually. Very well matched, but in different stables from different sires and dams. Fancy that.”
“Never mind their history,” I said, somewhat waspishly. “Where did you find them?”
My leg hurt, and I was ready to consign Bennett to the mercy of Brewster and his fists.
Brewster could persuade the man to move on if anyone could. I’d be no better than Denis if I employed him so, but at the moment, I did not care.
“One in Hyde Park, for hire,” Bartholomew said, ignoring my bad mood. “The other in Grosvenor Mews. Matthias thought it sounded familiar. It’s a gelding what belongs to one of Mr. Grenville’s neighbors.”
Chapter Nineteen
“What neighbor?” I asked, nonplussed.
“Viscount Compton, an elderly gentleman. He loves this horse. Calls it Irish Red. Very original.”
I’d met Compton a time or two at Grenville’s clubs. “It was not an elderly viscount galloping toward us in the Row,” I said.