Colonel Brandon's Diary by Amanda Grange Page A

moustache.
    ‘Whatever induced you to grow the thing?’ I asked him with a smile as, having clapped each other on the back and asked after each other’s health, we sat down together, prepared to while away the morning by reacquainting ourselves.
    ‘It is the fashion,’ he said.
    ‘Nonsense! I have not seen a single man with a moustache since I set foot in England.’
    He looked sheepish, and said, ‘If you must know, Brandon, I am married.’
    ‘Ah! I see. And your new wife likes moustaches?’ I said.
    ‘It is for her I grew it. I find it a confounded nuisance, to be honest. It itches. But she likes it, and so it stays.’
    I was happy for him, and I said so. He smiled and said that he had been fortunate, more fortunate than he deserved.
    As we talked, I could not help thinking that, if life had been kinder, Leyton and I would be two lawyers together, plump and prosperous, and both married to women we loved. Instead of which, I was a soldier, hard and lean, and looked older than my years, whilst he looked younger. His face was soft, and there was still a look of innocence in his eye. The world had dealt kindly with him, and it showed.
    ‘You must come to dinner,’ he said, when we had talked ourselves to a standstill. ‘Caroline is eager to meet you, and I believe we may gather together sufficient friends to make your evening enjoyable.’
    ‘It will be enjoyable even without additional company,’ I said. ‘It is good to see you again.’
    Our talk then moved on to my family and Eliza. Leyton hesitated as he asked after her at first, but his ready sympathy was engaged when he heard of her fate, and he was able to recommend a man who could help me to find her if I should not be able to find her myself.
    ‘I have used him before in one or two cases where information was essential. He is good at finding people,’ he said.
    I thanked him and we parted, he to return to Caroline and I to begin my search for Eliza. I went to the address my brother had given me, that of Eliza’s first seducer, Sir William Rentram, but he was out. I declined to state my business, but said that I would call again on Tuesday.
     
     
    Tuesday 17 December
    I went to Sir William Rentram’s today and found him at home. He was in his dressing gown when I arrived, though it was close on midday, and he had a sore head, but he agreed to speak to me. He could tell me nothing of her, however, for he had not seen her since they parted. He claimed that he had treated her well and that she had been happy with him for as long as their liaison had lasted. Whether it was true or not I had no way of telling, nor did I care. I only cared about finding her, and to that end I asked him what had become of her when they parted.
    ‘She left me for another man when my interest began to fade,’ he said.
    ‘And his name?’ I asked.
    He shook his head.
    ‘I have no idea. A foreigner, I think. A Frenchman. You know what Frenchmen are like. They have a way with women. He set out to win her, and as far as I know, he succeeded.’
    ‘But you do not know his name?’
    He thought, but then shook his head again.
    ‘No, I cannot recall.’ He looked at me speculatively and said, ‘What business is it of yours, if you do not object to my asking?’
    ‘I am . . . a family friend,’ I said. ‘I am concerned about her. I want to make sure that she is well, and to assist her if she stands in need of it.’
    He looked at me thoughtfully for some minutes and then said, ‘I think his name was Claude, Claude Rotterdam or some such thing. Not Rotterdam, but something like it. He used to live in Berkeley Square, in a rented house, I believe.’
    I thanked him for the information and made enquiries at every house in Berkeley Square, but only one was for hire, and that had had an English tenant for over a year. I asked after the Frenchman in a number of clubs but I could find no one who could give me any information about such a man and I returned to my club in low