Donata Breckenridge
Chapter Seven
Bartholomew would not return tonight, so I had to dress myself for the musicale. Bartholomew was convinced I could no longer do this on my own, but he kept my clothes so clean that they always looked fine, no matter how clumsy I might be at buttoning my own coat.
I peered into the small square mirror in my bedroom as I brushed my thick hair and fastened the braid across my chest. The regimentals of the Thirty-Fifth Light consisted of a dark blue coat with silver braid and dark cavalry breeches with knee-high boots. I wore the regimentals for social occasions, this being the finest suit I owned.
Imposing, Lady Breckenridge had written. I glanced into the aging glass again. She either flattered me or poked fun at me.
I took a hackney across London to South Audley Street and entered Lady Breckenridge’s house with a few moments to spare.
Lady Breckenridge prided herself on her musicales and soirees, styling herself as one of the tastemakers of London. Therefore, her sitting room was filled to overflowing, and I sidled through the crowd as politely as I could.
Sir Gideon Derwent was there, his kind face breaking into a smile when he saw me. Next to him was his son Leland, a slimmer, younger version of the father, and a pace behind them, Leland’s great friend, Gareth Travers. The Derwents were a family of innocents who invited me to dine with them at their house in Grosvenor Square once a fortnight. There, they’d beg me to entertain them with stories of my army life. Travers had a bit more cynicism, but he seemed to enjoy the unworldly companionship of the Derwents as much as I did.
We took seats for the performance. Lady Breckenridge, dressed in a russet gown that bared her shoulders, introduced the lady as Mrs. Eisenhauf, a young Austrian who was just beginning her career. A pianist played a few strains on her instrument, and the soprano launched into her aria.
I found myself floating on a cushion of music, sound that filled my entire body. The woman’s voice soared, loud and full, then dropped to the tiniest whisper, never losing its strength and quality.
Those around me were enchanted as well, but after a time, I stopped noticing anyone else. I heard only the music, observed only the curve of Lady Breckenridge’s cheek, her face soft with enjoyment. Lady Breckenridge might once have been the naïve young wretch she described, but she’d left that girl far behind.
For a moment, I forgot about necklaces, weeping ladies, de la Fontaine’s unhappiness, and the cold rain outside. There was only this bliss of warmth and music, and Lady Breckenridge’s smile.
The aria ended, not in a crescendo, but in a few low notes of pure sweetness. As soon as the lady closed her mouth, the room erupted in applause and shouts ofBrava! Brava!
They surged forward to meet her, swamping Lady Breckenridge, who stood next to her protégé. I wondered why Lady Breckenridge had brought me to this crush if she wished to speak to me privately as her letter had stated. I’d never get near her.
I spied Lady Clifford, dressed in a blue velvet gown too tight for her figure, her high feathered headdress bobbing as she moved among her acquaintance. Hearing snatches of her conversation, I learned that she took much of the credit for arranging the gathering and persuading the soprano to sing.
Lady Clifford spied me watching her. She made her way to me, clamped her hand around my arm, and drew me into a corner.
“Have you found the thief, Captain?” she asked, a bit too loudly for my taste.
“I am afraid I’ve turned up nothing, yet,” I had to say.
“I wanted to tell you, I believe my husband was right that I made a mistake asking for your help.” She smiled at me, but the smile was strained. “You have no more need to bestir yourself. Waters came home, and so that is all right. The real thief will be found by the Runners, eventually. Nothing more for you to do.”
I hid my surprise at her request, but perhaps Lord Clifford had bullied her into dismissing me. “You at first believed Mrs. Dale had taken the necklace,” I said. “You told me so.”
Lady Clifford flushed a blotchy red. “As to that—I again made a mistake. Annabelle has many faults, but she would not be so foolish as to steal something so valuable as the necklace. I did not realize . . .”
She trailed off, not telling me what she hadn’t realized.
“Did your husband tell you that I found your other necklace, Lady Clifford?” I asked.
“Other necklace? What other necklace?”
“The one you took to a pawnbroker near Hanover Square. Your husband identified it as a yours. Said it was a necklace you’d owned before your marriage.”
Her flush deepened but I saw relief in her eyes. “Captain, really, you should not have interfered there. It was mine to sell as I pleased.”
“You sent Waters to sell it for you, did you not? The proprietor described her.”
“Yes, well I could not go myself, could I? Not to a pawnbroker’s.” She nodded so vigorously that her feathers bent and swayed as though she stood in a heavy wind. “I see what you are thinking, Captain. That I sold the larger diamond necklace as well, for my own reasons. Well, I did not. I certainly did not.”
“I believe you,” I said.
Her agitation dissolved into surprise. “Do you?”
