“He was.” Desjardins lifted his chin, his pride apparent.
I was not certain what to make of the man. At supper, Desjardins had sat several seats down from me and had devoted most of his conversation to Lady Armitage. When he had joined in with the rest of us, he was loud about keeping the lower classes in their places and mourning that he’d had to leave a large estate in France because of said lower classes.
He regarded us both affably now, chagrined about his mistake in firing the gun, but with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. Grenville watched him coolly.
“You’ve lived in England many years,” I remarked to Desjardins. His suit resembled Grenville’s and must have been made by a Bond Street tailor. He also wore scent, a dark spice that spoke of the best perfumery in London.
Desjardins flushed, his amusement dying. “A bit rude of you to point out my exile, sir. I feel it keenly.”
“Your pardon. I only meant you would have had time to cultivate the Regent’s friendship.”
“Ah. Yes, that is so.” Desjardins brightened. “The prince has been good to me and my family.” He glanced out the window. “I have never grown fond England, if you must know. There is much rain, and I am not used to the dreary flatness of the land. In the south of France, we have high mountains and deep valleys, so dramatic.”
He could not have traveled much in Britain, then, which had plenty of mountains and valleys in the north and the west. I’d grown up in Norfolk, very flat country, which I’d too found dreary as a youth, though I appreciated its beauty these days.
“Life is easier in France now for aristocrats, is it not?” I asked pretending to be ingenuous. “As the monarchy has been restored.”
“But for how long?” Desjardins shook his head. “Already the king’s cousin, d’Orleans, makes noises that he ought to be on the throne, where he will create an assembly like Britain’s Parliament. Bah.” He skirted Brewster and made for a full decanter on the sideboard. “Such an assembly will only tear power from him and begin evicting us once again. Our time is over.”
His despondency was genuine as he filled glasses with brandy and carried them to us.
“Thank you,” Grenville said, accepting his. “At least you can havethisagain.” He raised his glass.
“Yes, yes.” Desjardins nodded. “Now that the long war is over, we can have brandy once more.”
“Without resorting to smuggling.” Grenville laughed, took a sip, and made a satisfied noise. “Quite fine.
“Indeed, indeed.” Desjardins drank, face flushing.
I wondered at his sudden nervousness.HadDesjardins been a brandy smuggler? Grenville had indicated he’d lived well in spite of having to flee France. Brandy could bring a high price from Englishmen who’d not wanted to do without it.
“May I speak with you about our supper the other night?” I asked after we’d drunk. “At the Pavilion?”
Desjardins gave me a blank stare. “Yes, why not? The Pavilion is a garish monstrosity, is it not?”
“It is unfinished, yet,” Grenville said generously. “And Mr. Nash is a gifted architect.”
“Perhaps.” Desjardins waved Mr. Nash away. “What is the question? I barely remember what I ate—it was so bland.”
“Colonel Isherwood,” I cut in, unable to wait for Grenville to work his way around to the important points. “He died that night.”
Did I see a flicker of worry in Desjardins’ expression? Or did I simply wish to?
“Yes, I heard. Took ill. He was a boorish fellow—I’m not surprised if he had an attack of bile.” Desjardins paused, his eyes widening. “You don’t mean that something was wrong with the food? Good Lord, I ate plenty, even if it was vile stuff.”
“No.” I needed to shut down that train of thought. “Nothing to do with the food or drink.”
“Well, that is a mercy.” Desjardins took a long gulp of brandy. “I didn’t like him, but poor fellow.”
“Yes.” I hardly knew how to ask my questions without violating Isherwood’s son’s wish that the murder stay quiet, but Desjardins’ rather vacuous expression gave me hope he’d not tumble to what had truly happened. “Did Isherwood speak to you of anything in particular?” I ventured. “Or indicate he’d meet anyone after supper?”
I trailed off as Desjardins sent me a peculiar look. As I hesitated, he turned from me and carried his empty glass to the sideboard. “Do you not remember, Captain? Or are you testingmymemory?”
“I’m afraid I was a bit inebriated myself. If the colonel shared his plans, I missed it.”
Another stare, and Desjardins’ voice hardened. “I do not know how you could have. You and he had a fierce altercation. Not in front of company, but I saw.”
“Saw what?” Grenville asked. “I admit I do not remember this myself.”
