The Glass House Read Online Free PDF

pocket and long in pedigree to even
cross the threshold."
    That left me on the doorstep. A barrister who
lived on what people paid him to prosecute cases likely would be
left on the doorstep as well.
    "I will have to send for Mr. Chapman and tell
him the disagreeable news," Thompson said, sighing. "And he’ll have
to identify the body. Not a happy errand."
    "Do you mind if I am present when you
question him?" I didn’t necessarily relish watching a man look upon
the dead body of his wife, but Chapman had the most motive for
killing her. Peaches had been cuckolding him, and Chapman’s
chambers were near to the Temple Stairs. Chapman might well have
discovered his wife's affair with Lord Barbury, met his wife in the
Temple Gardens, quarreled with her, and killed her.
    I could not rule out Barbury, either, despite
his impassioned plea to me to find Peaches' killer. He was an
impatient man, as I'd observed. He could very well have been angry
and jealous, and he was a large man, easily able to kill such a
delicate young woman as Peaches.
    Both men had strong connections to her; it
was likely that she had been killed either by one of them or
because of one of them.
    "You’re welcome, if you like," Thompson said.
"Sir Montague Harris told me things about you. He's astute as they
make them, for a magistrate, and I've learned to trust him." He
slanted me a look that said he'd be interested to see what I did,
if not explicitly sharing Sir Montague's trust in me.
    Sir Montague Harris, magistrate from the
Whitechapel house, had attended an inquest last summer at which I'd
been called to give evidence. I’d been impressed with the man's
common sense and pointed questions, even if the magistrate in
charge had found him irritating.
    I left Thompson, who told me he would send
word when he fetched Chapman, and made my way back to Covent
Garden.
    *** *** ***
    Grenville and I met at the Rearing Pony to
confer. I'd thought Grenville would prefer a more elegant meeting
place, even our usual coffeehouse in Pall Mall, but he professed
himself happy to settle in here. He explained, with an air of
irritation, that here at least he would not be required by every
passerby to render his opinion on a cravat, the cut of a coat, or
the latest on-dit, as he had done all morning while viewing
the porcelain.
    I sensed that Grenville was growing weary of
his role as most popular man in London. He betrayed a restlessness
that had begun after our adventures last summer, and I wondered
when he'd announce that he was returning to his world travels.
    When he finally went, I would miss him.
Despite our differences in wealth and opinions, we had become
friends. Perhaps we were friends because of our differences;
Grenville knew I would never toady to him, and he accepted me as I
was--one of the few people in my life ever to do so.
    As I repeated the conversation I'd had with
Thompson, the barmaid, Anne Tolliver, slid another tankard in front
of me and gave me a warm smile. I returned the smile with a nod.
"It would be helpful if we could piece together what Mrs. Chapman
did yesterday," I said as Mrs. Tolliver walked away. "Where she
went, who she met."
    I stopped. Grenville was staring at me, a
half-amused, half-exasperated look on his face. "How do you do it,
Lacey?"
    "How do I do what?"
    "Good Lord, you do not even know."
    I studied Anne Tolliver’s retreating back,
her hips swaying as she walked. "If you refer to Mrs. Tolliver, she
has a smile and a wink for every gentleman in the room."
    Grenville studied me, his eyes sharp, then he
laughed. "Not every gentleman. But never mind. We were
speaking of Mrs. Chapman. We can quiz her servants, of course.
Discover what she intended to do that day, whether she meant to
meet friends, or Barbury, or perhaps even another lover."
    "Lord Barbury mentioned a Mr.
Inglethorpe."
    Grenville looked uncomfortable. "Yes, Simon
Inglethorpe. He lives in Curzon Street."
    The name meant nothing to me. "Who is
he?"
    "No one of