To Mourn a Murder Read Free Page B

one else had access to your letters. We'll have them back to you tomorrow night, and it won't cost you a sou. Or say the next morning. You won't want us at your door after midnight."
    "Oh God bless you, Sir Reginald." She rose, threw herself into his arms and placed a kiss on his cheek. "And dear Byron," she added, repeating the performance with him. "I knew I did the right thing to take you into my confidence. I'm sure you have encountered worse treachery than this with all those nasty foreigners you've had to deal with."
    "Some treachery, along with a good deal of kindness," he replied. "In fact, the nasty foreigners behave very much like Englishmen, only friendlier."
    "Well, now that is settled, let us have some refreshment." She was just reaching for the bell pull when Byron rose.
    "Actually we must be off," he said, murmuring something about a meeting with his publisher.
    "I hope you're writing another poem, Byron," she said, leading them to the door. "I've finished Child Harold's Pilgrimage and am ready for a new one. But this time I hope you find yourself a nice English girl."
    "Ah, so do I, madam. So do I. Every man needs a good woman." His flashing eyes made a mockery of the words but Lady Jergen was not the sort to suspect sarcasm from a gentleman.
    She thanked Sir Reginald two or three times. They were about to escape when the dour butler appeared at the door.
    "Mr. Danby is waiting to see you, madam," he said. "Knowing you did not wish to be disturbed, I have asked him to wait in the visitors' parlour."
    Byron kept walking toward the front door. Sir Reginald stood his ground. Who, pray, was a Mr. Danby, calling at this particular time? Byron turned to urge him forward. Prance tossed his head, indicating that they should wait. With a sigh of annoyance, Byron turned back.
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Chapter 3
    "This is my nephew, Mr. Danby," Lady Jergen said, drawing the visitor forward and completing the introductions in the hall. "I had no idea you were back in town, Charles. The last I heard you were off to Somerset or Devonshire or one of those shires visiting friends."
    "In Surrey, actually. I just returned this morning from visiting Aunt Miranda, who is ailing. She sends her regards."
    "You don't mean Miranda is still alive! I thought she died a decade ago. She must be ancient."
    While the two exchanged a few words, Prance observed Mr. Danby. He was tall, well set up, about thirty-five years old, with conventional good looks. The most striking feature was his eyes, of a pale blue. What made them appear striking was the contrast with Danby's tanned complexion. His skin was as dark as Byron's was pale, which was odd when one remembered that Byron had been in tropical climes. Such a complexion was often seen on officers returned from the Peninsular wars in Spain and Portugal. Mr. Danby's square shoulders suggested he might have acquired his tan there.
    The group exchanged a few pleasantries, then the first callers left.
    "If you hauled me back due to any suspicion that Danby is involved in this letter business," Byron said, "you wasted our time."
    "Yes, I realized that when he said he just returned from Surrey."
    "Which may or may not be true, but Danby has no need of money. The man's a nabob. He got that brown face in India, not Spain. They say he's worth a million. P'raps it's India I should go to. Oh and he's lucky at cards along with it. Pity he ain't a lady and one of us could marry him. A friend of mine, Cam Hobhouse, sat down to a game with him once and lost his quarter's allowance."
    They climbed into Prance's waiting carriage for the drive back to St. James's Street. "Well, that was much ado about nothing," Byron said.
    "No need to call in the Brigade," Prance was happy to reply. He and Byron could wrap up the business, then he would casually mention it to Luten. "I daresay we ought to be skulking about the designated corner before midnight. A quarter to, do you think?"
    "That should do it. What a demmed nuisance the ladies