“Not at all. She departed rather early. I saw her out and into her carriage, which is driven by a ruffian I’m surprised she’s not terrified of. But I suppose she pays him well. I heard her tell him to return her to her villa, as speedily as he could.”
She felt safe there, I concluded. I hoped she was correct.
“Awaiting the comte?” I asked.
Grenville chortled. “As to that, I have discovered where he was the night of Gallo’s death. One of Marianne’s friends told me.”
“Oh?” I prompted when Grenville paused, enjoying himself. “Do tell me without prevarication, if you please.”
“Forgive me, my dear fellow. I have spent a night trying to match wits with those who are witty for a living, and it has made me vacuous. The comte was not at his hunting lodge, as I have said. That was the story for his wife and also for the grasping Signora Ruggeri. He was with another lady entirely. An older, more stately woman with whom he’s had a continuous affair for twenty years. And interesting development, is it not?”
Chapter 19
Interesting, indeed.
“If he is enamored of this other woman, why chase Signora Ruggeri?” I wondered in surprise. “Why cause even more strife to his family, including possibly disinheriting his sons?”
“Signora Ruggeri was in league with a blackmailer, remember,” Grenville said. “Perhaps she has some hold over the comte that has nothing to do with passion.”
“She is daring,” I agreed. “And yet retains an air of helplessness.”
“Perhaps she had Gallo murdered, after all.” Grenville settled into his chair and crossed one well-tailored leg over another. “For jeopardizing her lucrative business, perhaps. He might have been aiding her, instead of the other way about, and became too careless. She insinuated herself into the comte’s home on the night in question so she could prove she was elsewhere when Gallo was killed.”
“She could not have foreseen that the comtesse would invite her to spend the night,” I pointed out.
“She might have believed the comte himself would. It was Signora Ruggeri’s bad luck that Lejeune chose that night to visit his more steady mistress. But her good luck that the comtesse gave her a place to stay.”
“Until Vernet finds the true killer, I suppose we will never know,” I said philosophically. “Signora Ruggeri might be a careful woman, who would not let a hired murder be traced back to her.”
“You will wait quietly until the gendarmes arrest someone and prove his—or her—guilt?” Grenville asked in astonishment. “Has the alpine air dulled your senses?”
“We are not in the Alps,” I reminded him.
“No, but they are close by. The comte’s hunting lodge has a fine view of them on a clear day.”
“I hope Vernet arrests the correct person, yes,” I continued, ignoring his quip. “Which is why I raced to the gendarmerie when they arrested Claude Devere. But I am now more interested in protecting Gallo’s victims. They should not be afraid and humiliated more than they already have been. We all have peccadillos in our pasts.”
“You don’t,” Grenville said.
“Not true. For a time, I was in love with my commander’s wife. Unrequited, of course. I realize now that friendship with Louisa was a much better choice.”
Grenville regarded me in exasperation. “You did not seduce her and then fight a duel with Colonel Brandon. You behaved well to your first wife when she deserted you, letting her start another life with Auberge. You have helped James Denis a time or two, but never with anything blatantly illegal, that I know of, and you castigate yourself for it, regardless. No, my friend, you do not have a thing a blackmailer could hold over you. They would have to get up very early to best you, Lacey. Very early, as I know you are walking about even before the sun rises.”
“I’d be more likely to punch a blackmailer in the nose,” I agreed. “But others should not have to pay a man because he once had a mistress or cheated at cards.”
“To be fair, cheating at cards can get a gentleman barred from a club or run out of town. But I agree with you, as much as I tease you. Mistakes in a man’s or lady’s past should be allowed to fade, provided they are not too awful. Those who profit from people’s shame are reprehensible.”
“Which is why blackmail is a crime,” I said. “And very likely why Gallo died.”
“Murder is also a crime,” Grenville reminded me. “Though I can understand why someone killed him. Very well, we’ll leave it to Vernet, while you protect those Gallo blackmailed.”
“I can try to protect them, anyway,” I said. “I’d like to have a look inside the townhouse the comte gave Signora Ruggeri when she first arrived. Are you close enough acquaintances that you can ask the comte’s permission to enter? Signora Ruggeri claims everything is gone, but I’d like to see for myself.”
“Imogen Cooke.”
I blinked. “Pardon?”
“Isadora Ruggeri’s real name is Imogen Cooke. Marianne told me. At least, that was the name she used at Sadler’s Wells.” Grenville lifted his cup and saucer and took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, yes, I will ask Lejeune if you can poke around the townhouse. Or, you could simply turn up and tell the housekeeper you’re thinking of leasing it for a longer sojourn in Lyon.”
