Ashley Gardner - The Necklace Affair

A hint of the earlier smile returned. "Yes," she said. "But cease the compliments and listen, before someone decides to drag me off into an inane conversation. I have something to tell you that was not in my letter. Which, I trust, you read carefully."

"Every word," I said. "It was quite intriguing."

"I am certain it was. However, when my maid was dressing me this evening, she imparted intelligence from Lady Clifford's kitchens. Waters, the maid, was enjoying telling her harrowing tale of Bow Street gaol and being up before the magistrate. Reprieved at the last moment by testimony from Lord Clifford."

"Sir Gideon has been telling me that Lord Clifford is a bit of a reformer who worries the magistrates."

"Gracious, there is more to the story than that. According to those below stairs, Lord Clifford was persuaded to intervene on the behalf of young Waters by Annabelle Dale. Begged him tearfully, said an upstairs maid, who overheard the conversation. Apparently, Mrs. Dale asked Lord Clifford to help for 'poor, dear Marguerite's sake. We must all do what we can to spare Marguerite.' Extremely interesting, do you not think?"

Exceedingly. Spare Marguerite. Spare her from what?

"Life in the Clifford household must certainly be interesting," I said with feeling.

"I agree." Lady Breckenridge glanced across the room at Lady Clifford, and her mouth tightened with impatience. "I believe I will be more careful of the favors I do you in future."

"Investigating crime is not always a pleasant thing."

"I never thought it was. Certainly nothing for a gentleman or a lady who knows better. But that is why you interest me, Lacey. You never do what you ought."

"Nor do you."

The looked she gave me was measuring. "But I am an aristocrat and have the excuse of being removed from my fellow beings. You must strive to be utterly respectable, and yet, you do not always bother. I believe that is why I like you."

"I am obliged to you for that liking."

She regarded me for one more moment, her expression unreadable. "I can never decide, Lacey, whether you are complimenting me or mocking me, but it is no matter. I see that Lady Clifford has cornered an admiral. I am afraid I must rescue him. Good night, Captain."

I bowed. "My lady."

She sashayed away, throwing that sincere smile over her shoulder, and I stood for a moment, enjoying watching her go.

As I left the Breckenridge house, settling my hat against the rain, I wondered. Had Mrs. Dale actually taken the bloody necklace as Lady Clifford had first suspected? Just as she'd hidden Lady Clifford's knitting basket and caused a scene? Perhaps guilt had made her beg Lord Clifford to bring home the maid. Or perhaps Mrs. Dale had shown benevolence toward the maid to land herself in Lady Clifford's good graces again.

Whatever the answer was, I was growing thoroughly tired of this problem. It was late, the cold rain made my injured leg throb, and after the beauty of the soprano's voice and Lady Breckenridge's smiles, all else seemed drab, dull, and not worth bothering about.

I would lie in bed all the next day, have Bartholomew fetch me coffee, read the newspapers, and tell my blasted curiosity to go away. I was cold and sore, and I deserved a rest. Earl Clifford and his odd household could worry someone else.

I became so enamored of this idea that I thought of little else as the hackney bumped me back to Covent Garden. Therefore, my dismay was great when I walked into my bedchamber and found a woman lying fast asleep between my sheets.

I woke the woman without hesitation. "Marianne, what the devil are you doing?"

Marianne Simmons, actress from a Drury Lane company, once my upstairs neighbor, and now, in theory at least, Grenville's mistress, sat up and blinked china-blue eyes at me.

"Blast you, Lacey. Your voice is loud, and my head aches something awful. You weren't using your bed, so I saw no harm in borrowing it."

"I remember locking my door before I went out," I said.

"I stole your key months ago and had my own cut."

She could easily have done. I'd grown used to having Bartholomew here to let me in, plus I'd spent most of the last month out of London. Marianne could have stolen the key from my drawer at any time, me none the wiser.

"I am too tired to argue with you," I said. "Make use of the bed if you must, and I'll adjourn to Bartholomew's attic. Tomorrow you can tell me why you aren't sleeping in the house Grenville keeps so nicely for you."

" That is none of your affair. And good heavens, the attics must be freezing. This is a large bed, and there's a good fire. Plenty of room for both of us."

I was exhausted and aching, that was true. "I imagine myself explaining to Grenville why I was in a bed with you. He'll call me out for it, and then I'll have to let him shoot me, because I have no desire to kill him. My death will be on your head."

"Do not be ridiculous, Lacey. First, he is far more interested in supping with his art friends tonight than in calling on me. Second, you look all in. I'm certain a climb to the top of the house to a freezing room will kill you. When I was in a traveling company, we slept seven or eight to a bed such as this, too tired to do anything but snore." She scooted to the far right of the bed and patted the mattress beside her. "I promise not to touch you."

I believed her. Marianne, as far as I could tell, had very little interest in men apart from how much money they could give her. The exception was Grenville. She'd professed genuine confusion and not a little dismay that he'd not yet asked of her what most gentlemen asked of her.

I knew Marianne had no amorous designs on me-she regarded me as a person from whom she could borrow candles, coal, food, drink, snuff, and now, my bed. I use the word "borrow," but in truth Marianne never repaid what she took, whether in cash or in kind. I'd not stopped her, knowing that without what she took from me, she'd have gone hungry and cold many a night.

She was right that it was a long way to the top of the house, and Bartholomew relied only on the heat from the chimney. Fine for a robust youth, bad for a man twice his age whose stiff limb was hurting him very much tonight.

I smothered a sigh, went out to the front room, and stripped down to my shirt and drawers, and returned. I did not don the nightshirt that Bartholomew had left on the bed to warm, because Marianne had helped herself to that too.

The bedchamber was dark enough for modesty, and I slipped under the covers without having to blush. I admitted that the bed was nice and warm from Marianne's body, and true to her word, she kept herself on the far edge.

I lay back, tiredness and hurt overriding my common sense. "Be gone before Bartholomew returns in the morning," I said. "I might not be able to awaken you in time."

"Not to worry, Lacey. I am adept at covertly leaving a gentleman's bed."

"And never say such a thing to Grenville."

"Thank you, but I know how to manage him."

"Is being here part of your efforts to manage him?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"No, this is my effort at seeking a bit of quiet. You are the only person on this earth who does not plague me to tears."

"I am pleased to hear it."

I searched for the oblivion of slumber, but though I had nearly nodded off in the hackney, my mind, treacherously, was now wide awake. My body wanted to sink into the dubious comfort of my mattress, but my thoughts could not rest, and I fidgeted.

The bed shifted, and I guessed without looking that Marianne had propped herself on one elbow. "Perhaps you should talk about it," she said. "Let loose what is in your head so that you can sleep."

So she might say to one of her paramours. I knew gentlemen who professed that what they most enjoyed about their mistresses was that the ladies actually listened to their troubles.