“Captain Lacey?” A woman’s voice stopped me before I reached the other side of the street. “Are you fleeing the fireworks? You never liked them much, I remember.”
Chapter 12
Iturned to see Marguerite Gibbons ambling from the Steine across the empty street. She was alone, no husband or servant to guard her.
I met her in the middle of the road to escort her safely to the other side. “Have a care, madam,” I said. “A man has just shot at me.”
“Good heavens.” Marguerite looked me up and down, taking in my ruined clothing. “I thought the wars were over.”
“I’ve found England to be as dangerous as a battlefield. You should not wander about on your own, Mrs. Gibbons.”
“I often do.” Marguerite glanced at Brewster, concluding he was my servant, to his obvious annoyance. “Perhaps following the drum made me fearless. But do not worry. I am not an ingenue but an aging woman who has potted more than one would-be pickpocket with my umbrella.”
Her eyes sparkled with warmth, bright under the shadow of her feathered hat.
“Even so, I should return you to your husband.”
“Thishusband, yes. I would have fought you if you’d suggested such a thing on our last acquaintance.”
In another circumstance, I might have enjoyed reminiscing with her. Marguerite and I had been friends, if only briefly. But I was furious at the attempt on my life, still shaken by the death of Joshua Bickley, and sickened by the entire course of events.
“Isherwood is dead,” I said bluntly. “Murdered. I have been shot at twice today, and there is nothing to say a third time will not come. It is unsafe to stand next to me. I will take you back to the park and retire.”
Marguerite gaped at me. “Twice?” I noted that she showed no reaction to my declaration that Isherwood had been killed, but I assumed her stepson had told her the truth of his murder.
“My husband is home, not at the Steine,” Marguerite went on. “He does not like crushes and said he could see the fireworks as well from our rooms, which is true. I wanted air and to discover who was in Brighton for the summer.”
“Lord Armitage for one,” I said. “You recall him from Salamanca?”
Her eyes widened. “I do. Goodness. I had no idea he was in Brighton …” She looked thoughtful.
I took her arm and firmly led her along the street, making for the promenade where I’d seen her emerge from a house. “Armitage claims you were a spy for Napoleon.” I saw no reason not to reveal this to her. “I told him he was an idiot.”
“He said that?” She was more amused than alarmed. “I am hardly surprised. Lord Armitage violently disliked me and encouraged Isherwood to be rid of me. I have no idea why except that I am outspoken, and Armitage prefers women to be obedient. I am glad of the divorce now. It left me free when I met Mr. Gibbons, a far, far better man than Isherwood ever was.”
I noted that she did not deny being a spy, and had neatly turned away the question.
“Did your stepson send for you?” I asked.
“Giles? No, actually. We were never close—Isherwood made certain of that—and he has corresponded little with me since the divorce. I was summoned by Major Forbes.”
I slowed in surprise. “Forbes?”
“Indeed. He also violently dislikes me, but he felt it his duty to inform me of Isherwood’s passing. Major Forbes thought I deserved to know he had been murdered. Or possibly he was warning me he thought I’d done it.”
“And you rushed here to discover what had happened?”
Another laugh. “You are correct to be skeptical, Captain. I suppose I came to reassure myself Isherwood was truly dead. Mr. Gibbons feared there might be some legal tangle with inheritance and decided we’d better make the journey. Isherwood was well off, and I am named in his will—at least, I was once upon a time. If so, the money would be welcome.”
A practical man, was Gibbons, encouraging his wife to seek an inheritance from a man who’d abandoned her.
We’d gone deep into the narrow lanes of the old town, Brewster keeping a sharp eye out.
“Where are you lodging?” I asked Marguerite.
“Worry not, Captain. I will not hang on you and prevent you going home to your lovely wife. She is quite fond of you, I can see. Mr. Gibbons and I have taken rooms in Ship Street.”
I turned my steps that way. The Old Ship, where I’d sought the magistrate, sat on the corner overlooking the sea, but Marguerite directed me to a plain house in the middle of the lane.
