"I know. But I want to reassure her."

I broke off, uncertain of how I could reassure her. I wanted Louisa to know that I would pursue this inquiry and find out what had truly happened. Brandon might well be guilty, and, if so, I had to make that shock easier for her. If he were not guilty, I would work to get him free. I had to.

"Do you want me along?" Grenville asked.

I shook my head, and he cleared his throat. "Very well then, I'll leave you to it. I need to look in at Clarges Street."

He meant that he would visit Marianne Simmons, an actress who had lived upstairs from me in Grimpen Lane until recently. Grenville, whether wisely or not, had taken her to live in luxury in a house he owned in Clarges Street. Their relationship thus far had been stormy, any progress made usually followed by a painful regression.

"Greet Marianne for me," I said. "And send me word when you've obtained an appointment with Mr. Turner's father. It might be decent of us to attend the funeral."

"I will," Grenville agreed, and we parted.

Lord Gillis's quiet and efficient footmen let me out of the house. Berkeley Square was wet with rain, but the bitter chill of winter had gone, and my breath did not hang in the air.

I had expected to have to hike a long way to find a hackney, but another carriage already waited at the door, and a footman I recognized as Brandon's hopped down and approached me.

"Good evening, Captain," he said. "Mrs. Brandon said we was to have the town coach to fetch you to her. Will you get in, sir?"

Chapter Two

The Brandon house in Brook Street was a pale brick edifice inside which I'd endured many an evening with the hostile Colonel Brandon. When we'd returned from the war, Louisa had seemed to think we could resume our easy companionship in suppers and chatter, but the days of laughing in the Brandon tent late into the night had gone.