I seated myself behind the desk, opened the top right drawer, and pulled out Pickett’s diary that I’d brought home. I flipped the pages until I reached his entries for Monday. I’d scanned them before but hadn’t given any appointments before his scheduled one with Denis much thought.
“At two o’clock, he visited his bootmaker,” I read. “In Finsbury Square.”
Grenville lifted his brows. “I’ve not heard of any bootmakers in Finsbury Square. Libraries and betting shops, yes.”
“Hang about—his handwriting is difficult to decipher. This might say bookmaker.” I raised my brows. “That puts a different spin on things.”
“Indeed it does, as we know Pickett liked to wager on horses. We shall have to see what this bookmaker says. Anything else?”
I closed the diary. “I return to the valuable insight we might gain in one of your secret societies.”
“Yes, I meant to tell you before I was distracted by the intriguing question of Mr. Pickett’s clothing. I arranged an invitation to a meeting rather late tonight. I warn you not to expect too much. These things are more often an excuse to drink excessively than to plot to overthrow kingdoms.”
“But one of the members might have joined Pickett in a society a little more dangerous than yours.”
Grenville made a conceding gesture. “Will you tell Spendlove your new idea? About Pickett being murdered elsewhere, I mean.”
“I want to be more certain first. Again, Spendlove might simply conclude Denis himself killed Pickett elsewhere, though why Denis should have the man dumped in front of another house owned by him, I do not know.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “This is confounding me. Now that Denis is a free man—for now—he expects me to solve the crime immediately.”
“Free man?” Grenville stared at me. “What do you mean, a free man?”
I had not included this detail in my hastily scribbled note summoning Grenville here. “He managed to be released from Newgate, somehow. I only just learned this myself a few hours ago.”
“Good Lord,” Grenville said feelingly. “I actually pitied him, shut up in that insalubrious prison and certain to hang.”
“He bade me come to him in Curzon Street as soon as I reached home, but I had a more pressing appointment. With my wife,” I added as Grenville sent me a quizzical glance. “I wanted to report to her. She is the regimental sergeant-major, after all.”
My lightness of tone made Grenville smile and cease his questions, which is what I’d intended.
I did not wish to reveal Lady’s request for me to help find her daughter—I doubted she would want someone as well-known as Grenville in her business. Not because Grenville could not be discreet, but because journalists remarked upon his every move. Hence, his name was blazoned from pages about our investigations. He might not be able to keep Lady’s business private as much as he wished to. Everyone in London knew exactly what Lucius Grenville was up to every day.
“Let us adjourn to Curzon Street,” I suggested. “I will try to pry any information I can from Denis, then we will attend your meeting tonight and bring the conversation around to Pickett.”
“I am willing to wager none have ever heard of Mr. Pickett,” Grenville said. “Why don’t you visit Denis on your own? I have plenty to do, and I refuse to kick my heels in his downstairs hall because his butler will not let me up to speak to his highness.”
This disappointed me—Grenville often asked astute questions, and his presence had a calming effect on my impatience. However, I took his point. He had no reason to sit idly and wait for me.
“Very well, I will tell you what I learn later this evening. I have forgotten what outings I’ll be attending tonight with my ladies, but I imagine I will see you at one of them.”
“You will be at Lady Radcliffe’s soiree,” Grenville said. “Which I will not attend—she made a point of not inviting my wife.” His tone said he’d not forgive this slight easily. “However, I will await you at Drury Lane theatre afterward.”
I marveled that Grenville knew my social schedule better than I did, but he and Donata, whenever they met, nattered like the old friends they were. “Done,” I said.
“You’ve given me much to consider.” Grenville took up the walking stick he’d dropped beside the chair in his hurry. “I will pop into Brooks’s for a while this afternoon. The three gentlemen Pickett mentioned in his letter attend there, and perhaps I can strike up a conversation if any of them are about.”
“As well as display your new cravat?”
Grenville knew I teased him, but his nod was solemn. “I must reveal it at some point, and those at Brooks’s will be flattered I chose to do it there. Good day, Lacey. Be careful what you say to Denis. Your lady wife will want you safely home.”
“Donata will march over and extract me herself if there is any trouble,” I said with conviction. “Until this evening, then.”
“Au revoir.” Grenville departed, managing to move with both haste and elegance, a trait I knew I’d never master.
I went over Pickett’s clothing once more after Grenville had gone, hoping to come upon secret messages sewn into a hem or a lining, but I discovered nothing. This did not surprise me. Pomeroy, who was thorough, would have found and removed anything interesting before he sent the bundle.
I folded the garments, finished my now-cold coffee, and departed to visit Denis at home.
Gibbons opened the door at number 45 and showed me upstairs at once. He said not a word, but his apparent satisfaction when he saw no one with me but Brewster told me Grenville had been right not to come.
