LIKE THE COSMETICS of an ageing dowager, the white paint of the townhouses of Bloomsbury Square couldn’t quite hide the cracks and blemishes underneath. A century earlier, this part of town had been a fashionable neighbourhood, but the beau monde had long since decamped west to Mayfair, and only a few of the old families remained. The Dodd-Bellinghams were one, Mrs Corsham had told Child on their journey from the churchyard. Blue in blood, short on cash – one of those ancestral lines which had filled the benches of the House of Commons and the ranks of prestigious regiments for generations.
‘The late colonel served with distinction in the Austrian Wars and in India,’ Mrs Corsham said, as they alighted from her carriage. ‘On his return, he squandered his sons’ inheritance on women and hazard, and the lieutenant shares his father’s reputation.’
‘Young women?’
‘Perhaps. People say he is indiscriminate in his tastes. Every woman a conquest. He was sent to America because the colonel grew tired of buying him out of trouble, but to everyone’s surprise he had a good war. They say the King may award him the Order of the Bath.’
‘And his brother, Simon?’
‘Half-brother. His mother was one of the colonel’s mistresses. He married her after his first wife died and Simon took his name. It caused quite a scandal at the time.’
‘How did the lieutenant like that?’
‘Better than one would expect. Again, it was a surprise.’
The house had rusting railings and the brassware was in need of a polish. Their knock was eventually answered by a decrepit manservant in blue livery that looked almost as old as he did.
Mrs Corsham asked for the lieutenant, and they were shown into a gloomy hall, the plasterwork riven with cracks. It had that chill peculiar to large, old houses. Masculine voices drifted from one of the rooms. Child glanced at his client, a little concerned by her pallor and the way she held herself.
The manservant returned to invite them into a dining room, the burgundy wallpaper a patchwork of darker squares where paintings had once been displayed. A yellowed chandelier hung over an old mahogany dining table and a moth-eaten tiger’s head peered at them from over the fire. Lieutenant Dodd-Bellingham and another gentleman were seated at the table, a dish of herring between them. A musk of sweat and brandy mingled with the fishy odour, and Child got the impression they were not long out of bed.
‘Mrs Corsham.’ The lieutenant rose, flashing white teeth. ‘You are a vision before some very weary eyes.’ He kissed her hand.
‘Lieutenant. Lord March,’ she said, turning to the other gentleman.
Child studied him with interest. Like the lieutenant, Lord March was about thirty, with a long, thin face and elegant features. Thick, dark hair, cropped short like the lieutenant’s. Dark, pretty eyes and a thin smile. Child glanced at his hand, but like the lieutenant he wore no rings.
‘Allow me to name Mr Child,’ Mrs Corsham said. ‘He is a thief-taker I have hired, to look into the murder of Lucy Loveless.’
Lord March frowned. The lieutenant raised his eyebrows. ‘Odd thing to do.’
‘I’m sure you’ve heard by now that it was I who found the body, lieutenant. Perhaps you also heard that I found a ring when I returned to the bower. Jonathan Stone tells me there are four of them, and that neither he, nor your brother, are missing theirs. Our next port of call was to be Lord March. How fortuitous, then, that he is here.’
The lieutenant inclined his head. ‘As it happens, I was intending to call on you later today. The ring is mine. It was stolen from me several weeks ago. We’ve been keeping it from Stone, or my brother would have told you the other day. The ring was a gift from him, you see, and I knew he’d be annoyed that I’d been so careless. You’re my Galahad, Mrs Corsham. I’m much obliged.’
They studied him with scepticism. ‘Stolen?’ Child said.
‘Yes, by your dead doxy, Lucy Loveless. I’ll happily tell you the story, though perhaps Mrs Corsham would prefer to wait next door. It’s a trifle indelicate, I’m afraid to say.’
‘I am a married woman, lieutenant. I’m sure I will endure.’
‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’ He gestured to the empty chairs. ‘Won’t you sit down? Herring? No? Don’t blame you. I’d offer you a bowl of coffee, but the Mohammedan Gruel that Grimmond sees fit to serve is execrable.’
Mrs Corsham placed the ring upon the table. The lieutenant slid it onto his index finger, and Child could see it fitted him perfectly.
‘I knew Lucy from Agnetti’s house,’ the lieutenant said. ‘I am often there on Stone’s business, and she was one of his sitters.’
‘What business is that?’ Mrs Corsham asked.
‘Carrying sketches back and forth from his estate at Muswell Rise. Stone prefers not to come into town unless he can help it. When I’m not at his vintner or his bookbinder, I’m at Agnetti’s.’
‘I never picked you for an errand boy, lieutenant.’
He shrugged, unabashed. ‘We don’t all have wealthy fathers to settle our debts like March here. Mr Stone lets me work off the interest this way. It suits us both – for the moment at least. I hope my affairs will stand in better shape before too long.’
‘Lucy Loveless,’ Child said, returning to the point.
‘She and I struck up an acquaintance at Agnetti’s, and one night she asked me to take her to supper. I engaged a private room at the Prince of Wales, and a very pleasant time was had by both parties. Until I awoke a few hours later, to find the girl gone. My head was spinning, and I believe she slipped a draught into my wine. It was only later, when I got home, that I realized my ring was missing.’ He admired it now, turning his hand to catch the light. ‘I’m surprised she hadn’t sold it. Maybe that’s what she was doing in the bower – meeting a villain to do the deal, who then killed her? My brother says Stone paid seventy guineas apiece for these rings. Hell, right now, I’d kill for that.’
‘Did you report the ring stolen?’ Child asked.
‘Of course not. I have my reputation to think of. My superior officers understand that a gentleman has needs, but an official record of his peccadilloes is a different matter. I expect she counted upon it. Scheming jade.’
‘You were angry?’
‘Wouldn’t you be? She denied it, but I knew it was her.’
‘I ask because you were seen exchanging words with Lucy outside her lodgings a few days before she was killed. Can I ask what about?’
‘I was passing and saw her on the street. I confronted her again about the ring, but she still refused to admit it.’
‘I heard you pushed her?’
‘I may have got carried away in the heat of the moment. It was nothing she didn’t deserve.’
‘Did you also have words with her at Vauxhall?’
‘No, I didn’t know she was there.’
‘You didn’t go to the bowers at any point?’
He made fists on the table. ‘Does someone say I did? I’m not sure I like the path you are treading, sir.’
Lord March laid a hand upon his arm. ‘He’s only doing his job, Neddy. Let him ask his questions. It’s not as if you have anything to hide.’
The lieutenant eyed Child sullenly. ‘If Lucy’s dealings with others were similar to her dealings with me, then frankly I’m not surprised that she was murdered. But if you’re asking if I killed her, the answer’s no. I left Vauxhall early to have dinner with my brother at the Prince of Wales.’
‘Lucy’s landlord says someone was trying to destroy her livelihood by spreading rumours she had the pox. An anonymous letter was sent to the Whores’ Club and they threw her out. Did you have anything to do with that?’
He grinned. ‘I might have done. Teach her to steal from me.’
‘How did you find out that she had served time in Bridewell?’
‘I forget. Someone told me.’
‘She was also badly beaten about six months ago.’
‘Not by me. I don’t hit women.’
‘Only push them.’ Child met his unapologetic gaze. ‘Any inkling who might have hit her?’
‘When I saw her bruises, I presumed it was Agnetti. They’d had some sort of falling out.’
‘Do you know what their argument was about?’
‘Something to do with his wife, I think. She and Lucy were friends.’
‘It sounds implausible, does it not?’ Lord March put in. ‘A prostitute and a diplomat’s daughter? But I assure you it’s true. I observed the women talking and laughing together myself.’
‘You met Lucy too, then, sir?’ Child said.
‘Yes, I did. Jonathan Stone commissioned a portrait of a club of which I’m a member. I sat for Agnetti a few times during the course of its painting and we became friends. There were often girls around the place. Lucy was one of them.’
Beside him, Mrs Corsham stirred. She had steadily avoided looking at Lord March since they’d sat down, but now she turned.
‘Whatever she did to Neddy,’ Lord March went on, ‘she didn’t deserve to die like that. I wish you every luck in your endeavours to find the killer.’
Bluebloods, Child theorized, fell into two camps: arrogant fucksters like the lieutenant, and those who hid their arrogance behind a veneer of condescending charm. At least the fucksters didn’t expect you to be grateful.
‘Can I ask what you were doing that night in the bowers, sir?’
‘Just taking a stroll. I explained it all to the magistrate. Regrettably, I saw nothing that could help him. I’ve racked my memory.’
‘Did you tell Sir Amos that you knew the dead woman?’
‘No. I didn’t know then who she was.’
‘You didn’t recognize her?’
‘I barely glanced into the bower. Mrs Corsham will testify to that.’
She gazed at him coolly. ‘Yes, that much is true.’
Her tone intrigued Child, as did her volte face regarding his innocence. There is something between them, he thought. Or at one time there was. He wondered if they’d been meeting one another in the bowers.
‘A lot of coincidences,’ Child said. ‘You both knowing Lucy. Both present at Vauxhall. You in the bowers. The lieutenant’s ring.’
‘Everyone attended Vauxhall that night. And the lieutenant’s already explained about the ring.’
‘Ask Agnetti, if you don’t believe me,’ the lieutenant said. ‘I talked to him about the theft at the time.’
‘Then there’s Lucy’s interest in the Priapus Club.’
Lord March held his gaze. ‘Her interest?’
‘She had drawings of the four of you – the founders – pictures she’d stolen from Agnetti.’
‘What of it?’ the lieutenant said. ‘I told you she was a thief.’
‘I’m curious about her motive for that crime.’
Lord March spread his hands. ‘We are as much in the dark as you, sir.’
‘Will you tell me about your club? What you get up to?’
‘Very well, though I’m struggling to see the relevance. We have a shared interest in Greece and Rome, and we meet once a month to discuss it. Simon Dodd-Bellingham usually gives a talk on historical or philosophical matters. Often Mr Stone will show off a new acquisition for his collection. Sometimes I give a recitation. I’m working on a translation of Catullus, and I also write a little poetry in the classical vein myself.’
‘How many members does the club have?’
‘It must be over a dozen now.’
‘Can you give me a list of the names?’
‘Why would you want to know? Did Lucy Loveless have pictures of the others too?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Then I’m afraid the answer’s no. Not without good reason. No gentleman would thank me for dragging his name into a murder inquiry.’
Child thought about pressing him harder, but doubted he’d get very far. ‘Is poetry your metier too, lieutenant?’
‘Bores me to tears, if you must know. No offence, March. But I find the club’s philosophy enlightening.’
‘And what is that?’
He waved a hand vaguely. ‘That the Church doesn’t have all the answers. The ancients have lessons for us too.’
‘What manner of lessons?’
Lord March smiled uneasily. ‘Neddy puts it a little bluntly. There is nothing heretical in our thinking, I assure you. The club simply seeks to understand man in his natural condition, as God conceived him to be. We draw upon Rousseau and others, but also on our own studies of the classical world. Mr Stone is particularly interested in the light cast upon Roman society by the excavations at Pompeii. You should talk to the lieutenant’s brother, if you want to know more. He’s the authority on it all.’
‘Is Simon at home?’ Mrs Corsham asked.
‘In Hampshire on Stone’s business,’ the lieutenant replied. ‘Fitting a statue at one of his houses. He has six, you know, and a mistress in each. Has my brother scurrying up and down the country fitting them out with his precious antiquities. In this house, we’re all supplicants at the throne of Stone.’
Child took the card with the satyr from his pocket. ‘Does this mean anything to you at all?’
Lord March frowned and shook his head. The lieutenant barely glanced at it. ‘No,’ he said, in a bored tone. ‘Should it?’
‘Looks like a satyr to me. Reminds me of the goat on your rings. Clever trick that – the stone that turns around. Alitur vitium, vivitque tengendo. Vice thrives by concealment. That’s Catullus, right?’
‘Virgil,’ Lord March said, unsmiling. He took out his watch. Gold, studded with rubies. About two hundred guineas to Child’s trained eye. ‘Will this take much longer, Mr Child? We’re due at the Golden Pear Tree at five.’
‘Just one thing more.’ Child unfolded Nelly’s drawing. ‘This girl, her name is Pamela. She was another of Agnetti’s sitters. Do you know her?’
The lieutenant glanced at it, then met Child’s gaze combatively. ‘I know most of Agnetti’s girls. Haven’t seen this one in quite a while. What does she have to do with anything?’
‘She disappeared six months ago. Lucy was trying to find out what had happened to her.’
‘Oh, these girls are always falling in love and following their hearts. Or slinking back home to face the music. Or moving in with a keeper. Or getting locked up in Bridewell for a spell.’
‘Or getting murdered. That’s what Lucy thought had happened here. The four founders of the Priapus Club seem to have been the object of her suspicion. Did she ever speak to you about her?’
The lieutenant brought his fist down on the table, making the cutlery jump. ‘I’ve called men out for less. If you were a gentleman, I’d do so now. Impudent wretch.’
Lord March was still staring at the drawing of Pamela. ‘Do you know her, My Lord?’
He was forced to repeat the question, before March looked up. All his charm seemed to have leeched out of him, along with his colour. ‘This time I share the lieutenant’s misgivings. These questions are at best insulting, at worst they’re slander. Repeat them in public and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. I am surprised at you, Mrs Corsham. This lapse of judgement is in poor taste. I suggest you leave before your man does you further discredit.’
*
‘Did you see his face?’ Child said, when they were outside on the street. ‘Lord March went white as winter when I showed him that picture.’
Mrs Corsham didn’t look much better herself. She swayed slightly and put a hand to the side of the carriage to steady herself.
‘Yes, I did. That girl means something to them, certainly.’
‘You are unwell, madam,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I escort you home?’
She glared at him. ‘What do you intend to do next?’
‘Keep asking around Soho and Covent Garden. See if I can find out where Pamela was lodging. I’ll keep looking for Lucy’s friend, Kitty, too – and Hector, the lad from the Whores’ Club. He was Kitty’s former servant, and I’m convinced it was him who slipped that card with the satyr into my pocket. I’ll head down to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow and talk to Ezra Von Siegel, the lamplighter. And that jeweller who made the rings, Solomon Loredo. I have dealings with a lot of jewellers in the City, and Loredo’s a canny fellow. If he’s done business with Simon Dodd-Bellingham before, then he’ll have asked around about him first. I might buy him dinner.’
‘Did you believe the lieutenant’s story about the ring?’
‘I’m not sure. Lucy did have a bottle of valerian in her rooms. It might be the draught she slipped into the lieutenant’s wine.’
‘He said Agnetti knew about the stolen ring some weeks ago. If that’s true, it seems unlikely the lieutenant invented the story. I will call on him this evening and ask him.’
‘Is that wise, madam? Agnetti’s name is coming up a lot. He knew Lucy and Pamela. He was also there at Vauxhall on the night of the murder.’
‘That’s precisely why I should call on him, don’t you think?’
‘The lieutenant says he thinks Agnetti hurt Lucy before. We don’t know for certain that this connects to the Priapus Club at all. Agnetti could have killed her.’
‘It would seem a great coincidence, given Lucy’s suspicions and all that was going on in her life, if Pamela and those four gentlemen had nothing to do with it.’
Child had to concede the point. ‘Didn’t you say Jonathan Stone was Agnetti’s patron? Even assuming he’s innocent, he might not give you honest answers.’
‘Then I won’t be honest about my purpose. I’ll say I want him to paint my portrait. He charges eighty guineas a commission. That should get him talking.’
Child grunted. The woman was stubborn as Noah. ‘Just be careful.’