A Body in Berkeley Square by Ashley Gardner

pistol
from his greatcoat and trained it on me. I froze.
    "I will not be long, monsieur," he said. His
accent was thick.
    I wondered in the back of my mind why he'd
bothered to beat me if he might have simply shot me dead, or at
least threatened me with the pistol from the start.
    "Tell me who you are and what you want," I
said. "Or are you taking revenge for San Sebastian?"
    He did not answer. He flung open a final
drawer and tossed aside the expensive snuffboxes Grenville had
given me. One box broke open, and fragrant snuff drifted through
the room. The Frenchman, with a snarl, threw the empty drawer to
the floor.
    I heard a gasp from the hall. "Lacey, what
the devil?"
    Marianne Simmons stood in the doorway, her
eyes wide.
    "Get out!" I cried to her.
    The Frenchman trained his pistol on me
again. "Tell her to show her pockets."
    Marianne would have none of that. She began
screeching obscenities that would make the most hardened soldier
flinch. I shouted at her to hold her tongue, fearing the Frenchman
would shoot her in his impatience.
    The Frenchman strode to Marianne and slapped
her across the face. Marianne screamed in rage, grabbed his hand,
and sank her teeth into it.
    I struggled to my hands and knees, finally
reaching the walking stick. The Frenchman struck Marianne again. I
wrapped my hand around the walking stick and withdrew its
sword.
    The man fumbled at Marianne's dress, trying
to search her, while she screamed and batted at him. I got shakily
to my feet and came at the Frenchman with my sword.
    He realized finally that he could not fight
us both. He took a step away from Marianne and pointed the pistol
at her head.
    I stopped. She tried to kick him.
    "Be still, Marianne, for God's sake!"
    The Frenchman, his face scratched and
bruised, gave us both a look of fury, then he turned and ran out of
the room. Marianne started after him. I shoved her aside, told her
to stay put, and followed him.
    The man hurtled down the stairs and out of
the house. I gave chase as quickly as I could. Outside, rain and
mist shrouded the tiny cul-de-sac of Grimpen Lane. I heard the
Frenchman running away toward Russel Street, then he disappeared
into the fog.
    I knew I'd never catch him. Angry and
hurting, I made my way back upstairs.
    Marianne helped me inside. "Who the hell was
that?"
    "I don't know. I have never seen the man
before." Whoever he was, he'd just run off with Imogene Harper's
letters.
    "Well, he made bad work of you." Marianne
gave me a critical look. "Sit down. You look terrible."
    "Thank you very much." I obeyed her and sank
to a chair before the hearth, where this morning's fire had died to
a smolder.
    Marianne took out a handkerchief and touched
it to my face. I winced as she found abrasions. "I should ask what
you are doing here," I said.
    Marianne now lived in luxury in Grenville's
Clarges Street house, but she could not bear the confinement. She
liked to confound Grenville as much as she could by leaving the
house without a word and returning when she pleased. At first,
Grenville had tried to restrict her, but he'd not counted on
Marianne's pride and her love of freedom.
    In the end, she'd worn him down. Last month,
after she'd disappeared to Berkshire without warning, he'd wearily
told her that she could do as she liked.
    "I came to talk to you," she said. "To ask
your advice." She bit her lip. Marianne so hated to ask for
advice.
    "About your son?" I asked.
    I'd found out about Marianne's son by
accident when I stayed in Berkshire. I'd told her to confide the
entire story to Grenville, but I knew she had not.
    Marianne gave me a hard look. She had an
almost childlike face, with a pointed chin, big blue eyes, and
curls made more golden by artifice. Her pale silk gown was the
finest I'd ever seen her wear, though it was now mussed and torn
from the fight.
    Her looks had kept her employed on the stage
at Drury Lane, but her little girl prettiness belied a shrewd mind
and a very sharp tongue. Marianne had learned to