Die I Will Not by S. K. Rizzolo Page B

quieter.”
    That made sense, Chase reflected. He thought of Gander and his pamphlet designed to capitalize on the Princess’ growing popularity. It seemed Carlton House had formed new plans to discredit her, no doubt with her vengeful husband lurking in the background, instructing his minions to send anonymous paragraphs to the papers. But Chase had little pity to spare for the Princess since, like everyone else, he had heard the persistent rumors about her many scandalous liaisons. Everyone knew that the commissioners of the Delicate Investigation, while acquitting her of outright infidelity, had nonetheless admonished her to conduct herself more circumspectly in future.
    The case of the linen-draper Scoldwell and the shoplifter was soon over. Scoldwell and his boy were called to give their evidence, and, to no one’s surprise, the shoplifter was remanded for trial and sent to Newgate. As they left the office, Farley asked, “What did Gander want last night?” His round, red face wore a look of curiosity.
    â€œA small matter he wants me to look into.” Chase liked Dugger Farley; however, he was never sure of the man’s allegiances. Thus, he tended to keep his own counsel with Farley and everyone at Bow Street. Chase might have confided in Mr. Graham, the magistrate who had helped him obtain his position, but Graham was in failing health, and Chief Magistrate James Read was far less approachable.
    Farley grinned at him. “Make Gander pay for your trouble, John. Your chance to get a bit of your own back at the gentlemen of the press.”
    Bidding good-bye to his colleague, Chase was free to turn his attention to Penelope Wolfe. Their brief encounter the prior evening was responsible for the lightening of his mood. This man is my friend, she had said as she held out her hand, ignoring the cold stares her unconventional behavior provoked. He had not been encouraged to loiter in Rex’s reception rooms after she came to his defense, but he and Mrs. Wolfe had stepped aside for a moment to fix their meeting. Even in the costly gown, far grander than anything he’d ever seen her wear, she did not shun him but greeted him like an old and valued friend. He hoped the gown indicated that Mrs. Wolfe had found her way to prosperity—the last time he’d seen her she was employed as a lady’s companion and a very unsuitable one at that. He had no knowledge of her present circumstances beyond the address on Greek Street, which she hurriedly recited for him before Rex’s footmen escorted him out.
    Today he intended to ask about her visit to the Daily Intelligencer and get her impressions of Leach and his father-in-law Mr. Horatio Rex. He stood for a moment examining the typical London row house with basement, three stories, and garret. Knocking at the door, he waited until a neatly dressed, impassive maid opened the door. “The mistress told me you would call, sir. She is with the master in the painting room,” she said when he gave his name.
    He followed the maid up the stairs and down the passage to a room at the rear where, announcing him, she moved aside for him to enter. He stepped over the threshold to find Jeremy Wolfe pacing, brush in hand, while Penelope reclined on a divan at the opposite end of the room. Her dark hair draped across one half-exposed shoulder, she wore a white linen tunic, tied at the waist, and sandals on her slender feet. The brilliance of her tunic gleamed against the heavy folds of scarlet drapery on which she lay, this drapery sweeping up from the divan to form a sort of canopy over her head. A jeweled butterfly dangled from a golden cord at her waist, and in her palm rested a small padlock in the shape of a heart. But, as Chase approached, he saw that her arms and shoulders were prickled in gooseflesh, for the room was cold, and a meager fire on the hearth offered little in the way of warmth. Still, she seemed to come from another world, one