Read Online The Thames River Murders by Ashley Gardner - Free Book Online Page B

ladyship.
    Hagen quickly and without fuss drove me to Berkeley Square. Lady Aline Carrington, sister to the Marquis of Weymouth, spent the Season in London in a lavish, rather modern house in Mayfair, while her brother maintained the older family residence in Portman Square.
    Aline defied convention by living alone—without companion, brother, mother, sister—but her reputation and opinions were so well-known that exceptions were made for her. Lady Aline had been a member of the bluestocking set of her day, and still was, writing pamphlets on the place of women in society, and setting the bastion of old-fashioned males of London on edge. She drew to her the most brilliant of people—artists, writers, lecturers, mathematicians, scientists, actors and actresses, musicians and singers.  
    Donata had been drawn early into her circle. These days, Donata and Aline more or less set the taste for London in music, poetry, and opera, while Grenville set it for art, gentlemen’s clothing, food, and wine.
    I’d met Lady Aline very soon after arriving in London, and had found a friend in her. At this hour of the morning, however, my friendship won me nothing.  
    A footman gazed at me stonily, unhappy I’d brought him upstairs from where the household was preparing for the day. He declared that Lady Aline by no means would descend to see me.
    “If my wife is in the house, I will leave without fuss,” I said. “If not …” I made as though to move past him.
    The footman, a tall, rather muscular young man, stepped in front of me. “Viscountess Breckenridge is not here, sir.”
    “Then I must insist on speaking to Lady Aline. I’ll shout through the keyhole if need be.”
    “Her ladyship is not to be disturbed,” the footman replied firmly.
    Other servants were appearing, Aline’s aged butler and several maids, all looking annoyed. An upstart captain of uneven temper demanding entry at six in the morning was not to be borne.
    “I’ll speak to your coachman then,” I said. “I suppose I will not have to shout through a keyhole to him .”
    The footman scowled at me. “The coachman is not here either, sir.”
    “Then where the devil is he?”
    The footman had been well trained, and was good, I knew, at being silent, decorative, and efficient, but he had reached the end of his tether. He was ready to throw me to the pavement.
    The butler, no less put out with me, came forward. “If you will allow me to explain, sir. Her ladyship and the viscountess arrived here late last evening. Her ladyship descended, but the coachman drove the viscountess on. The coachman has not returned, but we know he has met with no accident. He sent word that he was spending the evening at a public house on the Brompton Road.”
    My qualms were not eased. Brompton was not a great distance—south of Hyde Park and not far from Tattersall’s. But even so, why should Donata order Aline’s coach to Brompton or thereabouts and not return?
    “Did he say which public house?” I asked irritably. Aline’s servants obviously expected me to run home quietly and wait for the return of my eccentric wife without fuss.
    “The Hound and Hen,” the butler said, tight-lipped. “The publican is his cousin. I will tell her ladyship you called.”
    They would throw me to the pavement in another minute. I growled a thanks at the butler and retreated.
    Donata’s coachman, Hagen, sharing my concern for his mistress, readily drove me south to Piccadilly and west to Knightsbridge, then angled southwest on the Brompton Road. London began to turn to country here, with gardens and plant nurseries, cricket grounds, and farms in the distance.
    The Hound and Hen, a pretty country inn, was on Brompton Lane. When we entered its yard, I saw Aline’s coachman emerging from the house. I descended as quickly as I could, making my way to him before he could vanish into the stables.
    “Sir?” Aline’s coachman blinked at me in surprise. He was a large specimen of a man,