“Pillory’s a bit harsh for the offense, I always thought,” I said. “I knew two soldiers during the war who spent the night with each other before every battle. We all knew it but said nothing, because the two in question always fought the more fiercely for each other the next day. I believe the Spartans did much the same.”
Travers listened to this revelation in surprise. “You are a reformist then?” A hint of a smile touched his lips. “A radical perhaps?”
“A realist, I would say. I’ve learned to take things as they come.” Or perhaps I had been sanguine because the two gentlemen had never tried to seduce me.
Or I would like to think so. Injustice always enraged me, and I was known to take matters into my own hands. Hence, my forthcoming appointment with Stubby Stubbins.
It was difficult for me not to rush back to Charing Cross, unlock the pillory, and let the pathetic man out, but I knew that such an act could possibly result in my death and his. No, he’d finish his sentence, go home, nurse his wounds, and be more careful in future.
I took another drink of ale and let the bitter taste of hops soothe me. “Why did you wish to call on me?” I asked Travers. “Something for which you need my help?” I was gaining a reputation for assisting those in need.
“Nothing so dire. I simply thought to have a conversation.”
This surprised me. I must have had nearly twenty years on Travers and had never considered him interested in conversation with a fortyish ex-army man. When he attended the Derwents’ dinners, he rarely spoke to me at all, preferring the company of Leland and Leland’s widowed cousin, Mrs. Danbury.
For all his professed interest, Travers didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say. He began a ramble about the Derwents—his amusement about how unworldly they were and his admiration for it at the same time, and his worry for Lady Derwent’s health. I nodded at intervals, waiting to discover his true purpose in talking to me.
When he started to look at a loss, I broke in, “You’ve known the family a long time?”
Travers looked relieved I’d taken charge of the discussion. “From years back. Eely—Leland, I mean—and I were at school together, but you knew that. I spent all my holidays with the Derwents, practically lived with them. My own father’s a bit threadbare. Clergy, you know, with a small living in the middle of nowhere in Wiltshire. He was happy to have the Derwents look after me.”
Travers dressed well to be the son of threadbare clergy. But while his father’s living might be miniscule, Travers could have come into trust money or been left a legacy by a friend. Money didn’t always travel in straight line—except in my family. Our line of wealth had gone directly to my father and then straight into the ground.
“You are fond of the Derwents,” I said.
Travers looked embarrassed. “I am. They have been very good to me.”
“And they’ve been good to me. They enjoy taking in strays.”
“Too true. Eely is an ass about it sometimes. Once at university, Leland tried to help a bloke he found in the street. Took him in, let him stay in our digs, gave the man his clothes, his money, tried to find employment for him. I warned him, but Leland is stubbornly blind sometimes. Of course the chap up and robbed us of almost everything and disappeared into the night. Leland was only sad we hadn’t helped him more. He even offered to recompense me for my losses. And then he wanted to go after the man and try again.”
Travers laughed, sounding genuinely amused. I imagined, though, that he hadn’t been much amused at the time.
“Some people resist being reformed,” I said. Well I knew this. I’d tried last year to help a street girl called Felicity, with mixed results. She was the lady in question Stubbins had been beating when I’d caught him.
“Well, Eely won’t hear of it. Bless the boy.” Travers and Leland were the same age.
“Leland is a kind young man,” I said. “Heaven help him.”
Travers nodded. “Good thing he has me to look after him. His father is as kind, and sometimes as foolish.”
“But Sir Gideon is a man of much power, and he’s reached that state by being a philanthropist. Perhaps Leland will end up the same as he.”
“Perhaps, but until then, it falls to me to keep the lad out of scrapes.”
“He is lucky to have such a friend,” I said in all sincerity.
Travers glanced at me a moment, his brows drawing together, as though wondering what I meant by the statement. Then he drained his pint and rose with restless energy.
“Pleased to have met you, Captain.” He stuck out his hand as I got to my feet, and I shook it. “I look forward to dining with you at the Derwents. Good day.”
As he started for the door, I had a thought. “Mr. Travers, a moment.”
Travers waited for me as I grabbed my hat and then walked with him out the door. When we stepped into the fine weather, I spoke to him in a low voice. “How do you feel about settling questions of honor?”
Travers raised his brows but gave me a shrewd look. “Why do you ask, Captain?”
“I need a friend,” I said. “One to stand by me, with Grenville. Next week, on Lady Day, early in the morning.”
“I see.” Travers nodded as he set his hat on his head. “Should I speak to Mr. Grenville about the particulars?”
“Indeed. That would be best.” I hesitated. “Perhaps Leland and Mr. Derwent do not need to know of your plans.”
Travers shot me a sudden grin, the look in his eyes one of satisfaction, almost triumph, which puzzled me a bit. “I believe I understand you.” He shook my hand again, squeezing my fingers warmly. “Well met, Captain.” And Travers walked away into the crowd, whistling.
End of Excerpt
Author’s Note
A parcel of explosives delivered to a victim in a Regency-set novel is not necessarily anachronistic—something similar happened in the early 1830s. While researching the period around the Lacey books, I came across a story about an actor-manager couple of a smaller London theatre who had received such a package of “combustibles” (which fortunately did not go off). The tale intrigued me, and I thought such an incident would make an interesting puzzle for Captain Lacey to solve. The rest of the particulars—the characters, motives, method, and the culprit—were all invented by me.
Two historical figures appear in this book: Edmund Kean, who was one of the most popular actors during the Regency period, both in England and the United States; and Sir Nathaniel Conant, who was Bow Street’s chief magistrate from 1813 to 1820. All other characters are fictitious.
About the Author
Award-winning Ashley Gardner is a pseudonym for New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Ashley. Under both names—and a third, Allyson James—Ashley has written more than 70 published novels and novellas in mystery and romance. Her books have won several RTBook Reviews Reviewers Choice awards (including Best Historical Mystery for The Sudbury School Murders), and Romance Writers of America’s RITA (given for the best romance novels and novellas of the year). Ashley’s books have been translated into a dozen different languages. More about the Captain Lacey series can be found at the website:
www.gardnermysteries.com.
Or email Ashley Gardner:
[email protected] Books in the Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries series
The Hanover Square Affair
A Regimental Murder
The Glass House
The Sudbury School Murders
The Necklace Affair (novella)
A Body in Berkeley Square
A Covent Garden Mystery
The Gentleman's Walking Stick (short-story collection)
A Death in Norfolk
A Disappearance in Drury Lane
And more to come!
Boxed Sets
Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries
Volume One
Includes The Hanover Square Affair; A Regimental Murder; The Glass House; and the short stories from The Gentleman's Walking Stick
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Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries
Volume Two
Includes The Sudbury School Murders; The Necklace Affair (novella); A Body in Berkeley Square; and A Covent Garden Mystery
Jennifer Ashley, A Disappearance in Drury Lane
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