“The testimony of a known thief and horse nobbler?” Stanton spat. “What sort of witness is that?”
“How do you know he nobbles horses?” I asked. “I don’t believe Mr. Denis mentioned that.”
Stanton shook his head. “It does not matter. You will not get me to trial.”
Grenville broke in. “I would not be too certain, Mr. St. John. I saw the accident, observed the cut linchpin. Even if you do manage to convince the magistrates not to try you, I can always ruin you.” He took a step closer to Stanton and looked him up and down. “A word from me in the right ears, and you will be anathema. No one will receive you. No one will support you adopting the young viscount. No one will want anything to do with you. For any reason.”
St. John started to speak, then wavered.
In his own way, Grenville was a powerful man. In a world where influence was everything, a man who had lost his reputation could be certain of nothing. Every door would be closed to him. Likewise, Grenville could ensure that the entire ton rallied around Donata.
“Mr. St. John.” Denis’s cold voice cut through the silence. “You will leave this house now. The coach outside will take you to Southampton. From there you will board a ship for the Continent. Your passage has been booked, the ship’s captain expecting you. You will not return. Or, you may wait here for the Runners, who will convey you to London to stand trial.”
Stanton stared at him, mouth opening and closing. He took in Grenville, whose face was granite hard and almost as frightening as Denis’s.
Donata looked on, as regal as an empress. Brewster, Marcus, and Denis’s men were between Stanton and the windows and door, penning him into the room. And I likely appeared equally as formidable, with my bleak expression and mussed and bloody clothes.
“Damn you,” Stanton said to me in a fierce whisper. “Damn you.”
“None of that,” Grenville said. “You’ve threatened a friend of mine, and even worse, her son. For that, you will never be forgiven.”
Stanton turned to Pimlott. “Do something.”
Pimlott shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve been given a good choice,” he said. “Good day, Mr. St. John.”
Worm, Donata had called him. She’d had his character well painted.
Pimlott started to gather up the papers, but I slapped my hand on top of them. “Leave them.”
Pimlott pretended to consider, then he shrugged and stepped away. He gave Donata a brief bow, then exited through a window, Brewster moving aside for him.
“Damn you!” Stanton roared, then his legs buckled.
“Do cease making such a noise,” Grenville admonished him. “Good Lord, I believe the man has fainted.”
Chapter 30
The Breckenridge chef proved to be in residence and was pleased, so Atherton said, to concoct breakfast for us. We were told to rest ourselves, and a meal would be sent in.
While few of the staff were there, they rose to the occasion. As at the South Audley Street house, Donata had hired most of the servants, and they’d been loyal to her, not the boorish Breckenridge.
The coach, with half of Denis’s men and Marcus, had taken Stanton to Southampton where he would board the ship Denis had prepared. Stanton had made his choice.
Denis, to my surprise, decided he would remain and breakfast with us.
An hour later we sat at one end of the large dining table, I washed and combed, in a suit I’d left here last year, Donata in a morning frock I’d helped her into, Grenville and Denis looking none the worse for wear.
Brewster was invited to partake with us, but he declined, declaring he’d feel better eating in the kitchen. “Would use the wrong fork or sommut, guv.”
The breakfast was a feast of omelets, bacon, toast, fruit, and a sweet of early berries with clotted cream and sugar. With this came coffee, rich and thick—the beverage of the gods.
“We’ll go from here to Dorset,” Donata said. “And fetch Peter. That is, after I have heard that Stanton is most definitely out of the country.”
She glanced at Denis, who had eaten quietly and now sipped coffee.
“My men will send word,” he told her. “He will depart.” I thought he would finish there, as cryptic as ever, but Denis continued, “He has run up much debt, and hoped ties to the viscount would reassure his creditors.”
“Indeed,” Grenville said, sitting back and cradling his porcelain cup in slim fingers. “I found out quite a lot about Stanton from my man of business. It seems he borrowed a great deal of money to improve his properties, and then more to bring suit against the pair of you. He ran through such large sums that legitimate businessmen refused to give him more, and so he turned to more unscrupulous men. I’d say these lads were not as patient with his reluctance to repay them. I believe his decision to flee the country was not too harrowing for him.”
“You see?” Donata said with force. “He is a snake.”
“Decidedly reptilian,” Grenville agreed.
“I thank you, sir, for all you’ve done for my son,” Donata said to Denis. She smiled at him, genuinely grateful.
Denis did things for his own ends, not the kindness of his heart, but he gave her a nod. “My pleasure, my lady. I owe your husband much.”
“Yes, you do,” Donata, ever blunt, replied. “But it was good of you, all the same. I do not know what sort of case Stanton was preparing in order to take Peter, and a magistrate might have agreed with him. Males do tend to stick together.”
“They do, my dear friend,” Grenville said. “But sometimes we are on the side of the ladies.”
“Who have far more sense than you do.” Donata pointed the ends of her fork at him before she returned it to her berries and cream. “Usually, that is,” she went on, and looked contrite. “This morning, I find myself in the position of having to apologize to my husband for being too eager to fit his daughter into my mold.”
I glanced at her in astonishment. That my wife would admit her chagrin told me she truly thought she had blundered. That she would admit it in front of others told me she believed she had to make amends.
Of course, Donata baring her soul meant I had to come to her defense. “You wanted the best for her,” I told her. “A husband who would be good to her, settlements in her favor so she will never be destitute.”
“Indeed. Marriage is not always bliss, but it does not have to ruin one completely.” Donata sighed. “We must learn everything we can about this Emile person Gabriella believes she is in love with. You can do that.” She gave Denis a pointed look. “So can you, Grenville. I know you have many acquaintances in France.”
“Of course,” Grenville said. “Donata told me about Gabriella’s choice when I saw her at Lady Featherstone’s at-home, Lacey. I pried it out of her when I asked why she was so morose. Never fear, I will discover all I can about this lad.”
Denis nodded without saying a word. I was a bit surprised my general of a wife did not demand a report delivered to her by Monday next, but she went back to savoring the last of the sweet cream.
“We will rally ’round,” Grenville said. “Make certain Gabriella isn’t running off with a blackguard. Major Auberge seems a sensible man, begging your pardon, Lacey, and will hardly let her make an unhappy match.”
“He is,” I said. “I must concede. And I must concede he made Carlotta happy over the years. Gabriella has seen a good example of what an agreeable marriage can be.”
“And you have showed her as well.” Donata reached across the table to lay her hand on mine.
“Ah,” I said, keeping my voice light. “You admit it?”
“Of course I do. I am no simpleton, and I do understand the difference. Gabriella believes she knows what she wishes, but it is our task to guide her so she does not blunder. Are we agreed, gentlemen? I would not like to push in on your former wife, Gabriel—heaven knows—but perhaps a journey to France is in order, when Gabriella returns there this summer.”
I gave her a mock amazed look. “You do not
wish to immediately banish her?”
“Good heavens, no. Lady Aline and I have made far too many plans for the Season to withdraw now. That would look very odd. No, we will continue. Gabriella enjoys the outings, and they are good for her. We will simply avoid situations where young men can propose.”
“I still think it was bloody cheek of Garfield to propose to her without speaking to me first,” I said in irritation.
“You are old-fashioned, Gabriel,” Donata said, her calm restored. “Young men and women agree between themselves first these days, and then approach the father. It gives them a feeling of independence.”
I threaded my fingers through hers. “I suppose I am angry because I see too much of me in him. I eloped with my first wife, and we both paid the price. I will advise Mr. Garfield to emulate the fine manners of Grenville, and he will get along much better in the world.”
My attempts to be solemn and sermonizing were undercut by Grenville, who began to laugh.
“You do not agree?” I asked him, a bit annoyed.
“I doubt you’d like Garfield, and more especially, Emile, to follow my example,” Grenville said.
My annoyance turned to puzzlement, which was reflected in Donata’s expression. “Whyever not?” I asked, while Donata said, “What on earth do you mean, Grenville?”
“I mean I should not be held up as exemplary in the matters of correct proposals.” Grenville dabbed his lips with his napkin, but his smile would not be wiped away. “When Marianne and I were in Paris, I married the dear girl.”
Donata and I froze. Shock flushed through me, followed by wonderment, followed quickly by mirth. I began to laugh.
My wife drew an expansive breath. “Damnation, Grenville, you …” And she was off, spouting her exact opinion, from vexation to wonder, in pointed and acerbic words. I listened in great enjoyment.
Denis looked out the window as the soft April breeze rippled through the garden, and took a calm sip of coffee.
Author’s Note
As always, I thank you for reading!
First, I want to state that the Captain Lacey series will indeed continue. I have many more ideas for mysteries for Lacey to solve, places for him to visit, and aspects of the Regency world to explore. I try to write at least one of these books a year, no matter how many other series I have going. I’m also trying to write more mysteries in general.
Every book in the series has a historical detail or two upon which the story hangs. For Murder in St. Giles, I learned much about pugilism and prisons in the Regency period. What we think of as England’s dark and foggy prisons (e.g., Dartmoor), are Victorian, not Regency. Before the abolition of transportation in the 1850s, a convicted felon of a capital crime in Regency England usually had one of two sentences—hanging or transportation. Existing prisons, such as Coldbath Fields and Milbank, as well as the hulks, served as detention centers where the prisoner waited before he or she was transported. Incarceration as a sentence did not occur until after the Regency period, when prisons were refurbished and monotonous forms of punishment, such as the treadwheel, were introduced.
Dartmoor and the hulks had been used for prisoners of war during the Napoleonic wars, but once those prisoners were released, Dartmoor was left to go derelict, and the hulks were used again, as Seaman Jones tells Lacey, “for our own villains.” Conditions, as Lacey discovers, were deplorable.
In the Regency period, most convicts could expect to be sent to New South Wales or to Van Diemen’s Land (known as Tasmania by mid-century). There they would do manual labor in work gangs or for colonists until their sentence was up. Most of those released from Van Diemen’s Land settled themselves in the colonies that were beginning to burgeon in mainland Australia.
The penalty for returning to Britain from transportation before the sentence was over was death.
I also delved into the fascinating world of pugilism. I learned about Daniel Mendoza, who made himself champion in the late eighteenth century with an unusual boxing style of bending slightly and holding his fists to defend his face. Mendoza was a middleweight but took the heavyweight championship. John Jackson, who went on to open the boxing salon in Bond Street, became famous for beating the great Mendoza by seizing Mendoza by his long hair and raining many blows upon him.
Regency-style pugilism was bare-knuckle boxing at its most raw—the “Queensberry rules” and boxing gloves were years in the future. Men of all classes learned the art of pugilism, but one did not cross class—aristocrats fought others in the haut ton, and men of Brewster’s class fought only those of their own strata.
A genteel match ended when one boxer’s knee or hand touched the ground. An unsanctioned street match might end in the death of one of the fighters. Eye gouging, biting, grappling, and pinning were legal. In many ways, Regency-style pugilism more resembles MMA than the modern boxing it became.
I had the great fortune of taking a class with a bare-knuckle fighter who boxes in the Regency pugilist style. I learned much observing and attempting the many moves, and watching my husband spar valiantly, despite nursing a broken knee. But so might a pugilist have done in Lacey’s time.
I hope you enjoyed this adventure—I am amazed we have reached book thirteen!
As always I want to thank readers for encouraging me to continue with Captain Lacey and helping make this series of my heart a bestseller.
If wish to sign up for my email blasts, which I send out when new books are on pre-order or releasing, or to let you know when audio books are available, you can do so at eepurl.com/5n7rz . (Privacy policy: I never collect any more information than an email address, and I never sell or give data to any third party. You may unsubscribe or update your information at any time.)
Thank you again!
Best wishes,
Ashley Gardner
Also by Ashley Gardner
Captain Lacey Regency Mystery Series
The Hanover Square Affair
A Regimental Murder
The Glass House
The Sudbury School Murders
The Necklace Affair
A Body in Berkeley Square
A Covent Garden Mystery
A Death in Norfolk
A Disappearance in Drury Lane
Murder in Grosvenor Square
The Thames River Murders
The Alexandria Affair
A Mystery at Carlton House
Murder in St. Giles
* * *
The Gentleman’s Walking Stick
(short stories: in print in
The Necklace Affair and Other Stories)
* * *
Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 1
Includes
The Hanover Square Affair
A Regimental Murder
The Glass House
The Gentleman’s Walking Stick
(short story collection)
* * *
Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 2
Includes
The Sudbury School Murders
The Necklace Affair
A Body in Berkeley Square
A Covent Garden Mystery
* * *
Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 3
Includes
A Death in Norfolk
A Disappearance in Drury Lane
Murder in Grosvenor Square
* * *
Kat Holloway “Below Stairs” Victorian Mysteries
(writing as Jennifer Ashley)
A Soupçon of Poison
Death Below Stairs
Scandal Above Stairs
* * *
Leonidas the Gladiator Mysteries
(writing as Ashley Gardner)
Blood Debts
(More to come)
* * *
Mystery Anthologies
Murder Most Historical
Past Crimes
About the Author
Award-winning and USA Today bestselling Ashley Gardner is a pseudonym for New York Times best
selling author Jennifer Ashley. Under both names—and a third, Allyson James—Ashley has written more than 100 published novels and novellas in mystery, romance, and fantasy. Her books have won several RT BookReviews 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 many different languages and have earned starred reviews in Booklist and Publisher’s Weekly. When she isn’t writing, she indulges her love for history by researching and building miniature houses and furniture from many periods.
More about the Captain Lacey series can be found at the website: www.gardnermysteries.com. Stay up to date on new releases by joining her email alerts here: http://eepurl.com/5n7rz
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Copyright
Murder in St. Giles
Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Ashley / Ashley Gardner
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Cover design by Kim Killion