I stood, stunned, as the far door slammed. The pageboy stared in shock, and the other gentlemen in the room ceased working, gazing first at the door through which Mr. Leeds had disappeared and then back to us.
“I’ll fetch ’im,” the pageboy declared and darted back into the hall.
Grenville and I exchanged a glance and followed, Grenville making a bow to the room. “So sorry to have disturbed you, gentlemen,” he said.
The pageboy flew on youthful legs through another door and down a flight of back stairs. Grenville, faster than I, rushed off on his heels. I followed the best I could, using the wall in the narrow stairwell to steady me, as there were no railings.
At the bottom, a door led out into the street, and I wondered briefly why I’d bothered to climb all the way to the clerk’s aerie.
When I emerged I saw that the pageboy had seized our fleeing gentleman by the coat tails and was holding on to him. Grenville reached them and began speaking rapidly to Leeds—I could not hear what he said over the noises of the street.
Leeds gave Grenville a puzzled look, and then deflated, no longer attempting to run. By the time I reached the group, Mr. Leeds leaned against the wall of the bank, trying to catch his breath.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said, wheezing. “I am of nervous disposition. Go on, lad. You may return to your post.”
The pageboy frowned, as though uncertain Mr. Leeds should be left on his own, but I gave him a reassuring nod and a coin. The lad quickly slid the coin into the pocket of his bright red coat and vanished into the bank.
“Very well met, Mr. Grenville,” Leeds said, wetting his lips. “I fancied you were the bailiffs, you see.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I am ever owing money.”
“Well, you shan’t have to worry about landing in the Fleet today,” Grenville said soothingly. “We have come to speak to you about a point of law, but nothing to do with debts. We all have those, dear sir. Perhaps there is a place we may speak, one not in a passage filled with horse droppings.”
Mr. Leeds nodded. His worry had turned to curiosity, and he led us around the corner to a tavern already doing a brisk business.
We found a relatively empty corner in which to sit, Grenville drawing many stares from the clerks and coachmen who occupied the place. Grenville asked the barmaid for three of their best bitters, earning a breathless thanks from Mr. Leeds.
“Now then, gentlemen.” Mr. Leeds lifted his glass, looking much more confident. “Why did you wish to speak to me? I have much information about the bank’s investments, I’ll have you know, though gentlemen usually send their man of business to seek my advice.”
“Mr. Finch,” I said without preliminary. “You prosecuted him.”
Mr. Leeds choked. He set down his glass hastily and snatched a handkerchief from his pocket. He coughed into this for some time, his eyes streaming.
Grenville thumped him on the back. “All right, sir?”
“Yes.” Leeds wiped his eyes. “You caught me off guard, Captain, you did. What about Mr. Finch? He’s gone. Transported, thank God.”
“No, he is dead,” I said, watching him.
Leeds looked startled, then flushed. “Truly? Ah, well. It may sound cruel, sir, but I cannot be sorry. He was a wicked man.”
“You prosecuted him,” I went on, “for robbing you. Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
Grenville said nothing, resting against the back of the settle and sipping his beer. He knew when to ask gentle questions and when to let me be straightforward.
Leeds wiped his mouth once more, stowed the handkerchief, and took a fortifying drink of bitter. “He and his friend beat and robbed me, that is what happened. It was my good fortune that a patroller from one of the magistrate’s houses happened by, and he nicked Finch. The other chap ran for it and got away, I’m afraid.”
“Probably Finch’s friend Blackmore,” I said. “Who is also now dead.”
Leeds jumped again, but I’d at least waited for him to swallow this time. He gave me a shaky smile. “Again, I cannot say I am sorry. They hurt me very much.”
“Why did they waylay you?” I asked. “Not to offend you, but I can understand two such ruthless villains rolling Mr. Grenville on the street and stealing all he had. His coat alone would be worth much, and a thief would guess that his pockets were full. But you must not be a rich man.”
“I am not, no.” Mr. Leeds rested his hands on either side of his half-drunk glass. “But I walked alone in an insalubrious part of the metropolis—visiting a sick friend—and they set upon me. I suppose even the tuppence in my pocket and my linen handkerchief was enough to make such men tackle me.”
I kept my expression quiet. Finch and Blackmore were villains, yes, but I could not believe they’d risk capture by robbing so poor a target like Mr. Leeds. Finch had frightened large quantities of money out of men like Shaddock and who knew how many others. He’d have no need of the few pennies and a linen handkerchief carried by Mr. Leeds.
“Who was the friend?” I asked.
Leeds blinked. “Pardon?”
“The friend you visited. Did he live in St. Giles?”
“Oh.” Leeds’ brow smoothed out. “Yes. A chap who’d fallen on hard times, and yes, he dwelled in St. Giles. I had gone to sit with him. He is dead now, poor fellow.”
“Another clerk?”
“Eh? Oh, he was, yes. But illness forced him to leave his post.” He shook his head. “It was very sad.”
“The name of this friend?” I asked.
Mr. Leeds shot me an angry look. “Look here, Captain, what is your interest? It was a very long time ago. That bastard Finch robbed me, I lost a friend, and Finch got what he deserved.”
“My apologies,” I said. “I did not mean to upset you. I am looking into the circumstances of Finch’s death for … er, a friend. I was surprised to hear you were brave enough to bring charges against him. He intimidated so many.”
Leeds shrugged, his composure restored. “Well, the patroller who arrested him took him to the magistrate, who locked him away in Newgate. I had Finch dead to rights, so I agreed to prosecute. I wasn’t brave, not really—there wasn’t much chance he’d get off, so no danger for me.” He gave us his thin smile. “Finch made up a story in the dock about having a daughter, and convinced the jury to feel sorry for him. He was transported instead of hanged, but that didn’t matter. I’d never have to see him again.”
He took another sip of bitter, everything well in his world.
“Did you know Mr. Finch had returned to London?” I asked.
Leeds started, but the start had come a second too late. “Did he? I thought you said he died in the Antipodes.”
“No, he died here in London. A week and more ago. His daughter—he did indeed have a daughter—is quite distressed.”
“Oh.” Leeds flushed once more as these new ideas went through his head. “I did not realize the daughter was a truth.”
“She is. A by-blow, but he had affection for her. Brought her gifts.”
“I see.” Leeds stared at his glass but did not reach for it.
“Was the patroller named Spendlove?” I asked. “The one who nicked Finch, I mean.”
Leeds brightened. “Oh, yes. Courageous of him. Felled the man right enough. I hear Mr. Spendlove is a Runner now. Good on him.”
Grenville and I exchanged a glance. I decided to say nothing more at present, and we finished our beer, Grenville switching the topic to mundane pleasantries.
We returned Mr. Leeds to the bank’s side door. The drink and the end of my questions seemed to restore his confidence.
“I do hope we have not landed you in trouble, Mr. Leeds,” Grenville said as they shook hands in parting.
“I am allowed a brief time for lunch or tea,” Leeds assured us, bowing. “I thank you for the sustenance. And if you or the captain ever need guidance in investing, I do know more than most what goes on in the bowels of the bank.” He tapped the side of his nose, gave us another nod, and skimmed inside, leaving Grenville and I alone.
“Well, well,” Grenville said as he led us along the busy street. Brewster, who’d followed at a discreet distance, joined us. “What do you make of that?”
“What’d he tell you?” Brewster rumbled.
Grenville’s coachman, Jackson, had pulled the landau into the street called Lothbury, in front of St. Margaret’s church. With Christopher Wren before me and John Soane behind me, I was surrounded by architectural genius in this narrow space.
“What I found interesting,” Grenville mused once we’d settled in the coach, Brewster joining us to hear our tale, “was that Leeds told his story without hesitation, until you, Lacey, tripped him by asking the name of his sick friend. Then he fumbled about until he said the friend was deceased. So why was he in St. Giles the day Finch waylaid him? Leeds knew Finch had returned to the country, though he pretended he did not. I would swear he did not know Finch was dead, however. But very much relieved.”
“All of which could be explained by his terror of Finch,” I said, though I did not believe that was the entirety of it. “Fear that Finch would retaliate for Leeds getting him convicted. Relief he was dead.”
“The friend was a fabrication,” Brewster said with certainty. “An excuse for him being in St. Giles. Finchie and Blackmore would never waylay a man for a few coins and a cheap cotton wiper. But this Leeds bloke had to say something in the witness box, didn’t he?”
“Mr. Leeds was keen to point out he knew much about the Bank of England’s doings,” Grenville said. “Perhaps he truly does know quite a lot, and perhaps Finch, being the extortionist and blackmailer he was, tried to get Leeds to give him money. Leeds meets Finch and Blackmore in St. Giles, won’t pay up—or can’t—and they rough him up. When Leeds spies a patroller, he seizes his chance and cries out. Pomeroy told you that Spendlove made his career chasing Finch, so he was probably following anyway. Spendlove is only too happy to drag Finch in, and bullied Leeds into prosecuting. Leeds is rid of Finch, Spendlove pockets a hefty reward, and everyone is happy.”
I nodded, but I still wasn’t satisfied. “Finch needed money, upon his return—perhaps he hoped Leeds might be a source of it …”
I trailed off. Finch had been tapping his family for funds to pay Steadman. Would he not also want to put his hands on Leeds, who could possibly get him gold, or silver, or whatever Leeds could give him, straight from the Bank of England?
Leeds knew his way in and out of the bank’s back doors, and he had obviously been to St. Giles before. Not to see his friend, as he’d claimed—but for what? To visit a lady? To conduct shady deals of some sort?
I imagined Leeds facing Finch in the alley in St. Giles, Finch growling at him to deliver the goods, and Leeds plunging a small knife into his side.
“Hmm,” I said. “I am trying to fit Leeds for the crime, but why on earth would Leeds agree to meet Finch in St. Giles the day Finch died? Why would Leeds not ignore the summons, lock himself in his house, flee town?”
“Finch had something on him,” Brewster suggested.
“Ah,” Grenville said. “That would explain it nicely. Finch knew something that could make Leeds’s life hell—perhaps the fact that Leeds uses his inside knowledge to help others make money, as he offered to us? If Finch threatened to expose him, wouldn’t Leeds rush to him and shut him up?”
“Very possibly.” I tightened my hand on my walking stick. “Let us discover more about Mr. Leeds.”
“We might have found our murderer,” Grenville said. “Poor chap.”
I returned home, already composing letters in my head. I’d ask Sir Montague Harris to find out all he could about Mr. Leeds—perhaps there had been suspicion of him before, which would make him more susceptible to Finch’s blackmailing.
I would also write to my friend Mr. Molodzinski, a man of business and very astute, who had rooms not far from Leeds’ lodgings. Molodzinski had his finger on the pulse of whatever went on in the City, plus I liked him and was happy of an excuse to communicate with him again.
I would also ask Sir Montague if he could have someone look up the records for the house in St. Giles that Brewster found so handy to put Finch into. I had reasoned Denis might own it—he had various properties around London—but I was beginning to suspect he did not.
By the time I reached South Audley Street, it was late afternoon, and the house was thronged with callers. Flowers filled the front hall and the drawing room, which was full of people.
They were calling on Gabriella. The flowers were from young men, as it was customary to send a small bouquet to a lady with whom a young man had danced and from whom he’d received permission to call. I’d noticed Gabriella’s suitors dancing with several young ladies, and I imagined the gentlemen’s pockets were a little emptier today.
I managed to slip past the throng and retreat to my bedchamber. I was dusty and hot from a journey across London, hardly fit to be seen in polite company. I sat down at the small desk in my room and wrote my letters.
When I emerged an hour or so later, washed and changed, everything had gone quiet, to my relief.
I went downstairs to leave the letters for Barnstable to post. The flowers remained in the lower hall, wilting a little now, but the house was deathly silent.
I deposited the letters on the tray in the foyer and caught sight of a downstairs maid busily tidying up the drawing room.
“Mary?” I asked her, entering that chamber. “Where is everyone?”
Mary ceased dusting, came to attention, and gave me a curtsy, eyes downcast. “Her ladyship has gone out. Miss Lacey is in the library.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you.”
I turned away to make for the stairs, but Mary cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, sir.”
I swung back, noticing that Mary was more subdued than usual. Donata’s servants were always deferential, but not dejected.
“What is it?” Worry stirred. “Is Gabriella ill?”
“No, sir. Not my place, sir, but I thought you should know. Her ladyship left in a rare temper. And I believe Miss Lacey is crying.”
What the devil? “Bloody hell,” I muttered as dire foreboding washed over me. “Thank you, Mary. I appreciate your candor.”
For answer, she curtsied again, clearly wishing me elsewhere.
I left the room and climbed the flight of stairs to the library.
I was the only person who used the library—though Donata enjoyed reading, she’d have her maid or Barnstable fetch her a tome to peruse in the comfort of her boudoir. I preferred to lounge among the books, with their scents of leather and aging paper, feeling as though the ancients and moderns who’d scribbled away at these texts were watching over me. Donata had some valuable books here as well, kept carefully in glass cases.
Gabriella liked the library too, and during her visits, I often found her browsing the shelves or sitting on the window seat, her feet drawn up, while she lost herself in a novel or book of poetry.
She reposed on the window seat today, a shawl about her shoulders, but no book lay in her lap. She’d half turned to look out the window behind her, and tears glistened on her cheeks.
“Gabriella,” I said in alarm as I closed the door and quickly went to her. She rose to greet me, but I motioned her down again. “What is it?”
Gabriella sank to the edge of the window seat. She pulled the shawl about her more closely and studied the carpet at her feet. “Lady Breckenridge is very put out with me.”
“Why?” I sat next to her on the wide cushion, the gold velvet warm from the afternoon sun. “Did you explain to her that you did not wish to marry?”
I allowed myself a touch of relief. After viewing the prisoners in the hulks and hearing about the horror that was Lord Mercer, my daughter’s and Donata’s clashing wishes were a storm in a teacup.
“Never mind,” I said gently. “I’ll speak to her.”
Gabriella gazed at me in anguish, her brown eyes glimmering. “You do not understand. She is angry because Mr. Garfield proposed to me, and I refused.”
My relief expanded profoundly. “You refused him? Thank God for that.” I let out a heartfelt sigh. “You might have made my wife unhappy, dear Gabriella, but you have pleased me enormously.”
I thought to make her smile, but she did not. Her sorrow remained, with a touch of … fear?
Gabriella pleated nervous folds in her shawl. “Please let me finish. When Lady Breckenridge demanded to know why I was so foolish as to refuse a fine young man like Mr. Garfield, I had to tell her. She would not listen until I explained.” Gabriella closed her eyes, and tears slid from beneath her lashes. “I am sorry, Father. I am already spoken for.”