“Any reforms from the past twenty years have utterly vanished,” Mrs. Stanbridge said. “I did not approve of Bonaparte marching all over the world to have his own way, but he did try to improve the lot of the ordinary man.”
“Ibelieve he simply didn’t like anyone ruling but him,” the colonel said. “Better to kick out the old kings and popes and put his own people in place—he could controlthem, couldn’t he? The reforms were by the way.”
“I suppose that’s true, Colonel,” his wife said cheerfully. “I couldn’t help feeling sorry for poor Murat, though. A sad end to a brave man.”
“Well, he did betray Bonaparte after Leipzig,” Grenville pointed out. “Marshal Murat more wanted to be King of Napoli than anything else, in the end.”
“An excellent cavalryman, though,” I said. “I have experience of him,” I finished feelingly.
“Most excellent,” the colonel agreed. “Good thing for us on the Peninsula that he went to Russia, eh? One of the few who did return. Poor buggers.”
We discussed that ill-fated campaign for a time. While Grenville was the only one at the table who hadn’t been in the king’s army—Mrs. Stanbridge had followed her husband throughout his career—he knew much regarding what had happened in 1812, which had eventually led to Napoleon’s downfall, which in turn had brought about Murat’s.
“And Napoli has a Bourbon king again,” Mrs. Stanbridge said. “Though they share him with Sicily. Napoli and Sicily are known as ‘the Two Sicilys,’ and I do not believe the Neapolitans are happy with that.”
“What made you come here?” Grenville asked her in curiosity. “It is lovely, of course.”
Mrs. Stanbridge snorted a laugh. “England’s climate—what did you think? Winter on the bay can bring cold winds and rain, but not for long. Most of the time the sun shines, and the bay is so blue. We grew used to warm weather on the campaigns, didn’t we, Colonel? We debated returning to Spain but decided upon Napoli and its environs after a visit.”
“Not Rome?” Grenville went on. “So many Englishmen find themselves there.”
Mrs. Stanbridge waved this away. “I don’t like to stay overly long in Rome. Too many Catholics.”
Colonel Stanbridge brayed with laughter. “The pope does make his home there, my dear.”
“You can smell the incense whenever you walk down the street,” Mrs. Stanbridge said wearily. “We had business there a few days ago, and I nearly ran to reach the bay again. At least here the sea breezes carry all that incense away.”
Finished disparaging an entire faith, Mrs. Stanbridge cheerfully called for the footman to take away plates and bring the pudding. This was a concoction of sponge cake soaked in some kind of liqueur with sweet cream between the layers.
At supper’s end, the colonel and his wife declared it was far too late for us to walk back in the dark to our inn, and that we must spend the night. They had plenty of room, they insisted, and we’d each have a comfortable chamber.
We could not refuse. Prisoners indeed.
When Grenville and I retired, I learned another reason that the Stanbridges had made the Bay of Napoli their new home. Colonel Stanbridge had lost quite a bit of money in an investment that went sour, one headed by a Mr. Norris Broadhurst.
“Broadhurst swindled them?”I held a whispered conference with Grenville in his chamber. The rooms were indeed well-appointed and comfortable, and I could not be put out that we had been persuaded to stay.
“They had mentioned their loss before you arrived.” Grenville pulled off his boots with the aid of a boot jack, then stood them upright. “Though not the particulars. Whatever bonuses the colonel received when he came home from campaigning, he invested in Broadhurst’s schemes. When the bailiffs came for Stanbridges’ things, they decided that it was time to retire to a southern clime. Stanbridge did not say it, but I imagine debtor’s prison was a step away.”
“They’d be pleased if Broadhurst suffered, then,” I surmised.
We spoke softly, aware that any servant might overhear us and repeat the conversation to their masters.
“Possibly.” Grenville unbuttoned his coat and slid it from his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a stand provided by the colonel’s valet for the purpose. “The man swindled so many that I’m surprised an entire army wasn’t after him. No mystery why he decided to play dead. Still, I suppose we should not let anyone actually murder the fellow.”
I nodded. “If only to spare a would-be killer the noose. Trial for murder would only make things worse for a family that has already lost much because of Broadhurst.”
“The desire for vengeance often overrides sense,” Grenville said. “More to the point, are our hosts in league with the man attacking you? Or is he entirely separate from this business?”
“I suggest we lock our doors, in case,” I said bleakly. “And leave at first light.”
“Agreed.” Grenville gave me a nod, and I said my good nights, retreating to my own chamber.
As wary as I was,I dropped to sleep quickly and slept hard. The tour of the ruins plus hunting for Grenville, coupled with the relief that he was well, unwound my limbs and made slumber impossible to resist. I had asked the Stanbridges before we finished supper to send word of our whereabouts to Brewster at the inn, though I doubted he’d wake before morning.
I’d taken the precaution of locking my door and window and added the barrier of a writing table in front of the door. It was a small table, but if nothing else, the clatter of it falling over would wake me if anyone tried to force their way in. As it was, the table remained undisturbed in in the morning. None had tried to intrude on either Grenville or me in the night.
The Stanbridges took breakfast with us—meat, bread, and cheeses of all kinds on offer—oblivious to the fact that they’d alarmed Grenville with the mention of Broadhurst the evening before.
